C> b/ J 



■ 



i 




elections 



FROM 

THE WORKS OF 
TAYLOR, HOOKER, BARROW, SOUTH, 
LATIMER, BROWN, MILTON, 

AND 

BACON; 

i BY 

BASIL MONTAGU, Esq. A. M. 
THIRD EDITION. 




LONDON : 

WILLIAM PICKERING. 

MDCCCXXIX. 



" I have sat upon the sea shore and waited for its gradual 
approaches, and have seen its dancing waves and its white 
surf, and admired that he who measured it in his hand had 
given to it such life and motion ; and I have lingered till its 
gentle waters grew into mighty billows, and had well nigh 
swept me from my firmest footing. So have I seen a 
heedless youth gazing with a too curious spirit upon the 
sweet motions and gentle approaches of an inviting pleasure, 
till it has detained his eye and imprisoned his feet and swelled 
upon his soul and swept him to a swift destruction." 

to the sweet imitator of her favourite author , 
to whom i am indebted for twenty years happiness, this 
little volume is inscribed by her ever grateful 

Basil Montagu, 



PREFACE. 



The first edition of these Selections was pub- 
lished in the year 1805; the second in 1807.* 
They have been for some years out of print ; — but 
my engagements during the last twenty years have 
been so incessant, that, with every anxiety to 
assist in extending to others the blessings with 
which the works of these holy men abound, I 
have only occasionally, and not without diffi- 
culty, been able to appropriate a few moments 
to this labour of love. I trust that it will not 
have been in vain. <c The delivery of knowledge is 
as of fair bodies of trees ; if you mean to use the 
shoot, as the builder doth, it is no matter for the 
roots ; but if you mean it to grow, as the planter 



* The Prefaces to these editions are at the conclusion 
of this volume. 



Vlll PREFACE. 

doth, look you well that the slip has part of the 
root."* I please myself with thinking that some of 
these selections cannot but give immediate de- 
light; and often, in my solitary walks through this 
noble city, more quiet to me than the retirement of 
academic bowers, I shall indulge the hope that this 
volume may, perchance, be opened by some young 
man who, at his entrance into life, is meditating 
upon that " suavissimavita indies sentire se fieri me- 
liorem." May this little spark of holy fire direct him 
to the place where the star appears, and point to 
the very house where the babe lies. In the works 
of these ancient writers, which as so many lights 
shine before us, he will find what is better than 
rubies and gold, yea, than fine gold. He will learn 
not to be misled by the transient pleasures of life : 
but to seek for permanent happiness, where it 
can alone be found, in knowledge, in piety, and 
in charity. 

London, November 28, 1828. 



* Lord Bacon. 



CONTENTS. 



A, 

Active Virtue, . . 359 

Adam in Paradise . . . r 189 

Adversity ...... ^ 145 

Ambition 118 

Anger , 53 

B. 

Bacon, Lord 373 

Barrow, Dr 258 

Bee and the Spider 278 

Body and Mind, Connection Between 385 

Brown, Sir Thomas 329 

C. 

Cause and Effect „ 164 

Charity « 280. 338 

Christianity <• 39 

Christian Censure 202 

Christian , 285 

Church Patronage 166 



X 



CONTENTS. 



Comforting the Disconsolate 114 

Company 311 

Concord and Discord 281 

Connection Between Error and Truth 358 

Contemplation and Action 16S 

Content 97 

Conversation 108 

Covetousness 101 

D. 

Danger of Prosperity 48 

David 233 

Day of Judgment 69 

Death _ 8 

Deformity 334 

Destruction of the Crusaders 294 

Duty of Thanksgiving 275 

E 

Education 4. 353 

Effect of Example 268 

England and London 365 

F 

Fancy 318 

Fear , 92 

Flattery 113 

Foolish Jesting 110 

Friendship and General Benevolence 77 

Fuller, Dr , 289 

G. 

Glory of the Clergy 212 



CONTENTS. xi 

Goodness, and Goodness of Nature . . 383 

Goodness of the Almighty . 19 

Good Wife, . . 296 

Good Parent , 379 

Good Sea Captain 299 

Golden Calf 61 

Government 370. 390 

Government and Re volutions 124. 128, 129 

H. 

Hall, Bishop 218 

Happiness 350 

Happy Man 219 

Hasty Judgment 160 

Hatred , .. 196 

Honouring God 265 

Hope 25 

Hospital , 105 

Human Perfection 189 

Human Ptesolutions „ 65 

Humility 101 

I. 

Idle Curiosity 149 

Ignorance and Intelligence 217 

Immoderate Grief 18 

Immortality 349 

Impatience 97 

Intemperance 134. 137 

Intellectual Superiority „ . . 337 

Invisible World B , „ 345 

J. 

J °y 196 



xii CONTENTS. 

K. 

Knowledge a Source of Delight 

Knowledge avoids Misery to whichignorance is exposed 264 



L. 

Latimer, Bishop 159 

Libels 364 

Liberty 361 

Licensers of the Press 364 

Logical and Mathematical Parts of Mind 379 

Love 195 

Lover of Truth 392 

Lukewarmness and Zeal 2S 

Lust 100 

M. 

Marriage 26. 363 

Memory 312 

Mercy 157 

Method and Arrangement 384 

Miscellaneous 291. 327 

Miseries of Man's Life 146 

Milton 351 

N. 

Nature and Art 363 

O. 

Old Age 256 

On Sinful Pleasures 104 



CONTENTS. xiii 

Order of Attaining Objects 216 

P. 

Paradise Lost 372 

Passion and Reason 52 

Passions 195 

Patent and Latent Vice 876 

Perfection in General 189 

Perfection of Understanding 189 

Perfection of the WilJ 194 

Philosophising and Theorising , 377 

Piety 270 

Pleasures of the World 133 

Pleasures of Understanding 66 

Pleasure Sensual and Intellectual 182 

Pleasure of Amusement 186 

Pleasure of Great Place 185 

Pleasure of Knowledge 388 

Pleasure of Meditation 187 

Pleasure of Piety.. 273 

Pleasure of Pteligion 188 

Pleasure of Study and Contemplation 243 

Poet'sMorning 371 

Power of Prayer 18 

Practical Understanding 192 

Prayer 3 

Presence of God 67 

Pride 342 

Progress of Religious Sentiment 115 

Progress of Sin 59 

Prosperity of Fools 211 

Prostitute , , 52 

Protestant and Catholic 331 



xiv 



CONTENTS. 



Q. 

Queen Elizabeth 385 

R. 

Rash Judgment 340 

Real and Apparent Happiness 142 

Reason and Description 5 

Reform 366 

Religion of Mahomet 292 

Religious Persecution 175. 294 

Resurrection of Sinners 60 

Return of Kindness 141 

S. 

Sacrament ^ 139 

Shepherds 10 

Sickness 57 

Skeleton 292 

Slander 113 

South, Dr 179 

Speculative Understanding 190 

Student 333 

Superstition 144 

T. 

Temperance 132 

Toleration 23 

Travelling 309 

True and Mock Religion 45 

U. 

Universities 375 

Utility 388 



CONTENTS. XV 

V. 

Virtuous Mind 62 

W. 

Wisdom selects True Pleasures 261 

Wisdom in its own Conceit . , , 292 

Wit 276 



BISHOP TAYLOR. 



If these little sparks of holy fire which I have heaped together 
do not give life to your prepared and already enkindled 
spirit, yet they will sometimes help to entertain a thought, to 
actuate a passion, to employ and hallow a fancy. 

Epistle Dedicatory to Taylor's Life of Christ. 



\ 



E 



SELECTIONS. 



ON PRAYER. 

Prayer is the peace of our spirit, the stillness 
of our thoughts, the evenness of recollection, the 
seat of meditation, the rest of our cares, and the 
calm of our tempest ; prayer is the issue of a quiet 
mind, of untroubled thoughts, it is the daughter 
of charity, and the sister of meekness ; and he 
that prays to God with an angry, that is, with a 
troubled and discomposed spirit, is like him that 
retires into a battle to meditate, and sets up his 
closet in the out quarters of an army. Anger 
is a perfect alienation of the mind from prayer, 
and therefore is contrary to that attention, which 
presents our prayers in a right line to God. For 
so have I seen a lark rising from his bed of grass, 
and soaring upwards singing as he rises, and hopes 
to get to heaven, and climb above the clouds; 
but the poor bird was beaten back with the loud 



4 



SELECTIONS 



sighings of an eastern wind, and his motion made 
irregular and unconstant, descending more at 
every breath of the tempest, than it could recover 
by the libration and frequent weighing of his 
wings; till the little creature was forced to sit 
down and pant, and stay till the storm was over, 
and then it made a prosperous flight, and did rise 
and sing as if it had learned musick and motion 
from an angel, as he passed sometimes through 
the air about his ministries here below : so is the 
prayer of a good man, &c* 

Prayers are but the body of the bird ; desires 
are its angel's wings. + 

EDUCATION. 
Otherwise do fathers, and otherwise do 
mothers handle their children. These soften 
them with kisses and imperfect noises, with the 
pap and breast milk of soft endearments; they 
rescue them from tutors, and snatch them from 
discipline; they desire to keep them fat and warm, 
and their feet dry, and their bellies full ; and then 
the children govern, and cry, and prove fools and 

* The Return of Prayers, Serm. v. p. 33. 
f Worthy Communicant, sec. 4. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



5 



troublesome, so long as the feminine republic does 
endure. But fathers, because they design to have 
their children wise and valiant, apt for counsel or 
for arms, send them to severe governments, and 
tie them to study, to hard labour, and afflictive 
contingencies. They rejoice when the bold boy 
strikes a lion with his hunting spear, and shrinks 
not when the beast comes to affright his early 
courage. Softness is for slaves and beasts, for 
minstrels and useless persons, for such who cannot 
ascend higher than the state of a fair ox, or a 
servant entertained for vainer offices ; but the man 
that designs his son for nobler employments, — 
to honours and to triumphs, to consular dignities, 
and presidencies of councils, loves to see him pale 
with study, or panting with labour, hardened with 
sufferings, or eminent by dangers.* 

AGE OF REASON AND DISCRETION. 

We must not think that the life of a man 
begins when he can feed himself or walk alone, 
when he can fight or beget his like, for so he is 
contemporary with a camel or a cow ; but he is 
first a man when he comes to a certain steady use 



* Holy Dying, ch. iiL 



6 



SELECTIONS 



of reason, according to his proportion ; and when 
that is, all the world of men cannot tell precisely. 
Some are called at age at fourteen, some at one- 
and-twenty, some never; but all men late enough ; 
for the life of a man comes upon him slowly and 
insensibly. But as when the sun approaching 
towards the gates of the morning, he first opens a 
little eye of heaven, and sends away the spirits of 
darkness, and gives light to a cock, and calls up 
the lark to mattens, and by and by gilds the fringes 
of a cloud, and peeps over the eastern hills, thrust- 
ing out his golden horns like those which decked 
the brows of Moses when he was forced to wear a 
veil because himself had seen the face of God ; 
and still, while a man tells the story, the sun gets 
up higher, till he shows a fair face and a full light, 
and then he shines one whole day, under a cloud 
often, and sometimes weeping great and little 
showers, and sets quickly. So is a mans reason 
and his life. He first begins to perceive himself, 
to see or taste, making little reflections upon his 
actions of sense, and can discourse of flies and 
dogs, shells and play, horses and liberty : but 
when he is strong enough to enter into arts and 
little institutions, he is at first entertained with 
trifles and impertinent things, not because he 
needs them, but because his understanding is no 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



7 



bigger, and little images of things are laid before 
him, like a cock-boat to a whale, only to play 
withal : but, before a man comes to be wise, he is 
half dead with gouts and consumption, with 
catarrhs and aches, with sore eyes and a worn-out 
body. So that, if we must not reckon the life of 
a man but by the accounts of his reason, he is 
long before his soul be dressed ; and he is not to 
be called a man without a wise and an adorned 
soul, a soul at least furnished with what is neces- 
sary towards his well-being. 

And now let us consider what that thing is 
which we call years of discretion. The young 
man is passed his tutors, and arrived at the 
bondage of a caitiff spirit ; he is run from dis- 
cipline and is let loose to passion. The man 
by this time hath wit enough to chuse his vice, to 
act his lust, to court his mistress, to talk confi- 
dently, and ignorantly, and perpetually : to despise 
his betters, to deny nothing to his appetite, to do 
things that when he is indeed a man he must for 
ever be ashamed of: for this is all the discre- 
tion that most men show in the first stage of their 
manhood. They can discern good from evil ; and 
they prove their skill by leaving all that is good, 
and wallowing in the evils of folly and an unbridled 
appetite. And by this time the young man hath 



B 



SELECTIONS 



contracted vicious habits, and is a beast in man- 
ners, and therefore it will not be fitting to reckon 
the beginning of his life ; he is a fool in his under- 
standing, and that is a sad death, &c„* 



ON DEATH. 

I shall entertain you in a charnel-house, and 
earn- your meditation awhile into the chambers 
cf death, where you shall find the rooms dressed 
up with melancholick arts, and fit to converse with 
your most retired thoughts, which begin with a 
sigh, and proceed in deep consideration, and end 
in a holy resolution. It is necessary to present 
these bundles of cypress. t 

The autumn with its fruits provides disorders 
for us, and the winter's cold turns them into 
sharp diseases, and the spring brings flowers to 
strew our hearse, and the summer gives green turf 
and brambles to bind upon our graves, \ 

It is a mighty change that is made by the 
death of every person, and it is visible to us who 
are alive. Reckon but from the spritefulness cf 



* Holy Dying, ch. i. f Dedication to Holy Dying. 
X Holy Dying. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



9 



youth and the fair cheeks and the full eyes of child- 
hood, from the vigorousness and strong flexure of 
the joints of five-and-twenty to the hollowness and 
dead paleness, to the loathsomeness and horror 
of a three days' burial, and we shall perceive 
the distance to be very great and very strange. 
But so I have seen a rose newly springing from 
the clefts of its hood, and at first it was fair as 
the morning, and full with the dew of heaven, as 
a lamb's fleece: but when a ruder breath had 
forced open its virgin modesty, and dismantled its 
too youthful and unripe retirements, it began to 
put on darkness, and to decline to softness and 
the symptoms of a sickly age; it bowed the head, 
and broke its stalk; and at night having lost some 
of its leaves and all its beauty, it fell, &c. 

The wild fellow in Petronius that escaped upon 
a broken table from the furies of a shipwreck, as 
he was sunning himself upon the rocky shore, espied 
a man rolled upon his floating bed of waves,* bal- 
lasted with sand in the folds of his garment, and 



* Like a common-weed, 

The sea-swell took her hair. 



KEATS. 



10 



SELECTIONS 



carried by his civil enemy the sea towards the 
shore to find a grave : and it cast him into some 
sad thoughts : that per adventure this man's wife in 
some part of the continent, safe and warm, looks 
next month for the good man's return ; or it may 
be his son knows nothing of the tempest ; or his 
father thinks of that affectionate kiss which still is 
warm upon the good old man's cheek ever since 
he took a kind farewell, and he weeps with joy to 
think how blessed he shall be when his beloved 
boy returns into the circle of his father's arms. 
These are the thoughts of mortals, this the end 
and sum of all their designs : a dark night and 
an ill guide, a boisterous sea and a broken cable, 
an hard rock and a rough wind dashed in pieces 
the fortune of a whole family, and they that shall 
weep loudest for the accident are not yet entered 
into the storm, and yet have suffered shipwreck. 
Then looking upon the carcase, he knew it, and 
found it to be the master of the ship, who the day 
before cast up the accounts of his patrimony and 
his trade, and named the day when he thought to 
be at home. See how the man swims who was so 
angry two days since ; his passions are becalmed 
with the storm, his accounts cast up, his cares at 
an end, his voyage done, and his gains are the 
strange events of death. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 11 

Of all the evils of the world which are re- 
proached with an evil character, death is the most 
innocent of its accusation.* 

* To the same effect Bishop Taylor says, in another part 
of his Holy Dying, — ' Take away but the pomps of death, 
the disguises, and solemn bug-bears, and the actings by 
candlelight, and proper and phantastick ceremonies, the 
minstrels and the noise-makers, the women and the weepers, 
the swoonings and the shriekings, the nurses and the physi- 
cians, the dark room and the ministers, the kindred and the 
watches, and then to die is easy, ready, and quitted from 
its troublesome circumstances. It is the same harmless thing 
that a poor shepherd suffered yesterday, or a maid-servant to- 
day ; and at the same time in which you die, in that very night 
a thousand creatures die with you, some wise men and many 
fools ; and the wisdom of the first will not quit him, and the 
folly of the latter does not make him unable to die.' And in 
an essay ascribed (erroneously, I think,) to Lord Bacon, he 
says, ' I have often thought of death, and I find it the least of 
all evils.' But in the same essay the author says, ' Death 
arrives gracious only to such as sit in darkness, or lie heavy 
burthened with grief and irons ; to the poor Christian that sits 
bound in the galley ; to despairful widows, pensive prisoners, 
and deposed kings : to them whose fortune runs back, and 
whose spirits mutiny ; unto such death is a redeemer, and 
the grave a place for retiredness and rest. These wait upon 
the shore of death, and waft unto him to draw near, wishing 
above all others to see his star, that they might be led to his 
place, wooing the remorseless sisters to wind down the watch 
of their life, and to break them off before the hour.' 



12 



SELECTION S 



IMMODERATE GRIEF. 

Solemn and appointed mournings are good ex- 
pressions of our dearness to the departed soul, and 

One of the sweetest of our modern poets says, — 

And hark ! the nightingale begins its song, 
' Most musical, most melancholy' bird ! 
A melancholy bird ? Oh, idle thought! 
In nature there is nothing melancholy. 

So sings the sweet poet. Are these the mere fancies of 
the brain, illusions of the imagination, or does philosophy echo 
what the poet sings ? Let us try this by seeing whether in 
death, which is as natural as life, there is not something me- 
lancholy? Is there nothing melancholy in a death-bed ; in 
the agony and last contentions of the soul ; the reluctancies 
and unwillingnesses of the body; the forehead washed with a 
new baptism, besmeared with a cold sweat, tenacious and 
clammy, apt to make it cleave to the roof of the coffin ; the 
nose cold and undiscerning ; the eyes dim as a sullied mirror; 
the feet cold ; the hands stiff? How many of us have con- 
templated with admiration the graceful motion of the female 
form ; the eye sparkling with intelligence ; the countenance 
enlivened by wit, or animated or soothed by feeling ? Is there 
nothing sad in the consciousness that in a few short years, per- 
haps in the next moment, sensation and motion will cease ; 
the body lose its warmth, the eyes their lustre, and the lips 
and cheeks become livid ? Is there nothing melancholy in the 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 13 

of his worth, and our value of him ; and it hath 
its praise in nature, and in manners and public 



consciousness that these are but preludes to other changes ? 
Will the poet still say, 

Oh, idle thought! 
In nature there is nothing melancholy 1 

And will philosophy echo what the poet sings ? 

It certainly is true that this is no new song of the poets. 
Bacon (whether truly or not is the question) says, — Know- 
ledge mitigates the fear of death; for, if a man be deeply 
imbued with the contemplation of mortality and the cor- 
ruptible nature of all things, he will easily concur with Epic- 
tetus, who went forth one day, and saw a woman weeping for 
her pitcher of earth that was broken ; and went forth the next 
day, and saw a woman weeping for her son that was dead; 
and therefore said, ' Heri vidi fragilem frangi; hodie vidi 
mortalem mori.' And therefore Virgil did excellently and 
profoundly couple the knowledge of causes and the conquest 
of all fears as concomitant: 

Felix, qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas, 
Q<uique metus omnes et inexorabile fatum 
Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avari ! 

If any of my readers is desirous to discover the portion of 
truth and of error which these opinions of poets and philoso- 
phers contain, it is necessary to proceed with caution, and 
separately to examine the different causes which compose the 
painful associations with which death is accompanied : consist- 
ing, as it does, of a complication of terrors, aiding each other 



/ 



14 



SELECTIONS 



customs. Something is to be given to custom, 
something to fame, to nature, and to civilities, and 



and becoming formidable by their united operation, let him 
read Tucker's valuable Essay on Death, in vol. vii. of his ad- 
mirable work on the Light of Nature : and let him remember 
that Lord Bacon, in his Doctrine of all the Motions in Nature, 
says, 1 The political motion is that by which the parts of a body 
are restrained from their own immediate appetites or tenden- 
cies, to unite in such a state as may preserve the existence of 
the whole body. Thus, the spirit, which exists in all living 
bodies, keeps all the parts in due subjection ; when it escapes, 
the body decomposes, or the similar parts unite — as metals rust, 
fluids turn sour: and in animals, when the spirit which held 
the \ its together escapes, all things are dissolved and return 
to their own natures or principles : the oily parts to themselves, 
the aqueous to themselves, &c. upon which necessarily ensues 
that contusion of parts, observable in putrefaction.' So true it 
is, that in nature all is beauty ! that notwithstanding our 
partial views, and distressing associations, the forms of death 
misshapen as we suppose them, are but the tendencies to 
union in similar natures. 

In this spirit was the inscription written which is now on 
the monument of Lord Bacon. He died in the year 1626; 
and, according to his wish, is buried in the same grave 
with his mother. Near to him lies his faithful secretary; 
and although only a few letters of his name, scarcely legible, 
can now be traced, he will ever be remembered for his 
affectionate attachment to his master and friend. Upon the 
monument which he raised to Lord Bacon, who appears, 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



15 



to the honour of the deceased friends; for that 
man is esteemed to die miserable, for whom no 
friend or relative sheds a tear, or pays a solemn 
sigh. Some showers sprinkled upon my grave 
would do well and comely. 

But that which is to be faulted in this particu- 
lar is, when the grief is immoderate and unrea- 
sonable : and Paula Romana deserved to have 
felt the weight of St. Hierom's severe reproof, 
when at the death of every of her children she 
almost wept herself into her grave.* 



sitting in deep but tranquil thought, he has inscribed this 
epitaph : — 

FRANCISCUS BACON BARO DE VERULAM S: ALBANI VIC me3 
SEU NOTORIBUS T1TULIS 
SCIENTIARUM LUMEN, FACUNDI-5S LEX 
SIC SEDEBAT. 

QUI POSTQUAM OMNIA NATURALIS SAPIENTI.E 
ET CIVILIS ARCANA EVOLVISSET 
NATURE DECRETUM EXPLEVIT 
COMPOSITA SOLVANTUR. 

Is not decomposition, in the sight of omniscience, as beau- 
tiful as union ? 

* Ought we in our grief for the loss of each other, to 
murmur at the order of nature, at the dispensations of Provi- 
dence, or ought we to remember that— 

. . . . • . . They are not lost 

Who leave their parents for the calm of heaven. 

• . . - . . . . . .1 know well 



16 



SELECTION S 



And it hath been observed, that those greater 
and stormy passions do so spend the whole stock 
of grief, that they presently admit a comfort and 
contrary affection ; while a sorrow that is even 
and temperate goes on to its period with expecta- 
tion and the distances of a just time. The 
Ephesian woman that the soldier told of in Petro- 
nius was the talk of all the town, and the rarest 
example of a dear affection to her husband. She 
descended with the corpse into the vault, and there 
being attended with her maiden resolved to weep 
to death, or die with famine or a distempered sor- 
row : from which resolution, nor his nor her friends, 
nor the reverence of the principal citizens, who 
used the intreaties of their charity and their power, 
could persuade her. But a soldier that watched 



That they who love their friends most tenderly 
Still bear their loss the best There is in love, 
A consecrated power, that seems to wake 
Only at the touch of death from its repose 
In the profoundest depths of thinking souls, 
Superior to the outward signs of grief, 
Sighing or tears, — when these have past away. 
It rises calm and beautiful, like the moon, 
Saddening the solemn night, yet with that sadness 
Mingling the breath of undisturbed peace. 

CITY OF THE PLAGUE. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 17 

seven dead bodies hanging upon trees just over 
against this monument, crept in, and a while stared 
upon the silent and comely disorders of the sorrow : 
and having let the wonder awhile breath out at 
each others eyes, at last he fetched his supper and 
a bottle of wine, with purpose to eat and drink, 
and still to feed himself with that sad prettiness. 
His pity and first draught of wine made him bold 
and curious to try if the maid would drink ; who, 
having many hours since felt her resolution faint 
as her wearied body, took his kindness, and the 
light returned into her eyes, and danced like boys 
in a festival : and fearing least the pertinacious- 
ness of her mistress* sorrows should cause her evil 
to revert, or her shame to approach, assayed whe- 
ther she would endure to hear an argument to 
persuade her to drink and live. The violent pas- 
sion had laid all her spirits in wildness and disso- 
lution, and the maid found them willing to be 
gathered into order at the arrest of any new object, 
being weary of the first, of which like leeches 
they had sucked their fill till they fell down and 
burst. The weeping woman took her cordial, and 
was not angry with her maid, and heard the soldier 
talk. And he was so pleased with the change, 
that he, who at first loved the silence of the sor- 
row, was more in love with the musick of her 

c 



18 



SELECTIONS 



returning voice, especially which himself had 
strung and put in tune : and the man began to 
talk amorously, and the woman's weak head and 
heart were soon possessed with a little wine, and 
grew gay, and talked, and fell in love ; and that 
very night, in the morning of her passion, in the 
grave of her husband, in the pomps of mourning, 
and in her funeral garments, married her new and 
stranger guest.* 

THE POWER OF PRAYER. 

Prayer can obtain every thing, it can open 
the windows of heaven, and shut the gates of hell ; 
it can put a holy constraint upon God, and detain 
an angel till he leave a blessing ; it can open the 
treasures of rain, and soften the iron ribs of rocks, 
till they melt into tears and a flowing river: prayer 
can unclasp the girdles of the north, saying to 
a mountain of ice, Be thou removed hence, and 
cast into the bottom of the sea ; it can arrest the 
sun in the midst of his course, and send the swift- 
winged winds upon our errand; and all those 
strange things, and secret decrees, and unrevealed 
transactions which are above the clouds, and 
far beyond the regions of the stars, shall com- 



* Holy Dying. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



19 



bine in ministry and advantages for the praying 
man.* 

ON THE GOODNESS OF THE ALMIGHTY. 

As the sun sends forth a benign and gentle 
influence on the seed of plants, that it may invite 
forth the active and plastick power from its recess 
and secrecy, that by rising into the tallness and 
dimensions of a tree it may still receive a greater 
and more refreshing influence from its foster father, 
the prince of all the bodies of light ; and in all 
these emanations the sun itself receives no advan- 
tage but the honour of doing benefits : so doth 
the Almighty father of all the creatures ; he at 
first sends forth his blessings upon us, that we by 
using them aright should make ourselves capable 
of greater ; while the giving glory to God, and 
doing homage to him, are nothing for his advan- 
tage, but only for ours ; our duties towards him 
being like vapours ascending from the earth, not 
at all to refresh the region of the clouds, but to 
return back in a fruitful and refreshing shower ; 
and God created us, not that we can increase his 
felicity, but that he might have a subject recep- 
tive of felicity from him. 



* Worthy Communicant. 



20 



SELECTIONS 



Does not God send his angels to keep thee in 
all thy ways ? are not they ministering spirits sent 
forth to wait upon thee as thy guard ? art not 
thou kept from drowning, from fracture of bones, 
from madness, from deformities, by the riches of 
the divine goodness ? Tell the joints of thy body 
doest thou want a finger? and if thou doest not 
understand how great a blessing that is, do but 
remember how ill thou canst spare the use of it 
when thou hast but a thorn in it. The very pri- 
vative blessings, the blessings of immunity, safe- 
guard, and integrity , which we all enjoy, deserve 
a thanksgiving of a whole life. If God should 
send a cancer upon thy face, or a wolf into thy 
breast, if he should spread a crust of leprosy 
upon thy skin, what wouldest thou give to \>e but 
as now thou art ?* 

LUKEWARMNESS AND ZEAL. 
He that is w r arm to-day and cold to-morrow, 
zealous in his resolution and weary in his prac- 
tices, fierce in the beginning, and slack and 
easy in his progress, hath not yet well chosen 
what side he will be of. For religion cannot 
change though we do ; and, if we do, we have 



* The Mercy of the Divine Judgments. Serm.xii. p. 286. 8. 95. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



21 



left God \ and whither he can go that goes from 
God, his own sorrows will soon enough instruct 
him. This fire must never go out ; but it must 
be like the fire of heaven ; it must shine like the 
stars, though sometimes covered with a cloud, or 
obscured by a greater light ; yet they dwell for 
ever in their orbs, and walk in their circles, and 
observe their circumstances ; but go not out by 
day nor night, and set not when kings die, nor 
are extinguished when nations change their go- 
vernment. So must the zeal of a Christian be, a 
constant incentive of his duty ; and though some- 
times his hand is drawn back by violence or need, 
and his prtyers shortened by the importunity of 
business, and some parts omitted by necessities 
and just compliances ; yet still the fire is kept 
alive, it burns within when the light breaks not 
forth, and is eternal as the orb of fire, or the 
embers of the altar of incense. 

In every action of religion God expects such 
a warmth, and a holy fire to go along, that it 
may be able to enkindle the wood upon the 
altar, and consume the sacrifice ; but God hates 
an indifferent spirit. Earnestness and vivacity ; 
quickness and delight, perfect choice of the ser- 
vice, and a delight in the prosecution, is all that 
the spirit of a man can yield towards his religion : 



22 



SELECTIONS 



the outward work is the effect of the body ; but 
if a man does it heartily and with all his mind, 
then religion hath wings, and moves upon wheels 
of fire. 

However it be very easy to have our thoughts 
wander, yet it is our indifTerency and lukewarm- 
ness that makes it so natural ; and you may ob- 
serve it, that so long as the light shines bright, 
and the fires of devotion and desires flame out, so 
long the mind of a man stands close to the altar 
and waits upon the sacrifice ; but as the fires die 
and desires decay, so the mind steals away and 
walks abroad, to see the little images of beauty 
and pleasure which it beholds in the falling stars 
and little glowworms of the world. The river 
that runs slow and creeps by the banks, and begs 
leave of every turf to let it pass, is drawn into 
little hollownesses, and spends itself in smaller 
portions, and dies with diversion; but when it 
runs with vigorousness and a full stream, and 
breaks down every obstacle, making it even as its 
own brow, it stays not to be tempted with little 
avocations, and to creep into holes, but runs into 
the sea through full and useful channels : so is 
a man's prayer ; if it moves upon the feet of an 
abated appetite, it wanders into the society of 
every trifling accident, and stays at the corners of 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



23 



the fancy, and talks with every object it meets, 
and cannot arrive at heaven ; but when it is car- 
ried upon the wings of passion and strong de- 
sires, a swift motion and a hungry appetite, it 
passes on through all the intermedial regions of 
clouds, and stays not till it dwells at the foot of 
the throne, where Mercy sits, and thence sends 
holy showers of refreshments.* 

TOLERATION. 

An y zeal is proper for religion, but the zeal of 
the sword and the zeal of anger ; this is the bit- 
terness of zeal, and it is a certain temptation to 
every man against his duty ; for if the sword 
turns preacher, and dictates propositions by em- 
pire instead of arguments, and ingraves them in 
men's hearts with a poignard, that it shall be 
death to believe what I innocently and ignorantly 
am persuaded of, it must needs be unsafe to try 
the spirits, to try all things, to make inquiry ; 
and yet, without this liberty, no man can justify 
himself before God or man, nor confidently say 
that his religion is best. This is inordination of 
zeal ; for Christ, by reproving St. Peter drawing 
his sword, even in the cause of Christ, for his 



* On Lukewarmness and Fear. Serm. xii. part 2. 



24 



SELECTIONS 



sacred and yet injured person, teaches us not to 
use the sword, though in the cause of God, or for 
God himself. 

When Abraham sat at his tent door, according' 
to his custom, waiting to entertain strangers, he 
espied an old man, stooping and leaning on his 
staff, weary with age and travail, coming towards 
him, who was an hundred years of age. He re- 
ceived him kindly, washed his feet, provided 
supper, caused him to sit down ; but observing 
that the old man eat, and prayed not, nor begged 
for a blessing on his meat, he asked him why he 
did not worship the God of heaven. The old 
man told him, that he worshipped the fire only, 
and acknowledged no other God. At which 
answer Abraham grew so zealously angry, that he 
thrust the old man out of his tent, and exposed 
him to all the evils of the night, and an unguarded 
condition. When the old man was gone, God 
called to Abraham, and asked him where the 
stranger was ? He replied, 1 thrust him away 
because he did not worship thee. God answered 
him, I have suffered him these hundred years, 
although he dishonoured me ; and couldst not 
thou endure him one night ?* 



* Liberty of Prophesying. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



15 



ON HOPE. 

Hope is like the wing of an angel soaring up 
to heaven, and bears our prayers to the throne of 
God. 

THE HOPES OF MAN. 

As a worm creepeth with her belly on the 
ground, with her portion and share of Adam's 
curse, lifts up its head to partake a little of the 
blessings of the air, and opens the junctures of 
her imperfect body, and curls her little rings into 
knots and combinations, drawing up her tail to a 
neighbourhood of the head's pleasure and motion ; 
but still it must return to abide the fate of its 
own nature, and dwell and sleep upon the dust : so 
are the hopes of a mortal man ; he opens his eyes 
and looks upon fine things at distance, and shuts 
them again with weakness, because they are too 
glorious to behold ; and the man rejoices because 
he hopes fine things are staying for him ; but 
his heart aches, because he knows there are a 
thousand ways to fail and miss of those glories ; 
and though he hopes, yet he enjoys not ; he 
longs, but he possesses not, and must be content 
with his portion of dust ; and being a worm and 



26 



SELECTIONS 



no man must die down in this portion, befor e 
he can receive the end of his hopes, the salvation 
of his soul in the resurrection of the dead.* 



ON MARRIAGE. 

FROM SERMON,f ENTITLED 6 THE MARRIAGE 
RING.' 

1. Marriage compared with single life. 

2. Marriage considered by itself. 

1st. As it relates equally to husband and wife. 
1. Caution requisite in marrying: — 2. They 
ought when newly married, to avoid offending 
each other : — 3. They should be careful to 
avoid little vexations : — 4. They should ab- 
stain from those things from which they 
are respectively averse : — 5. They should avoid 
nice distinctions of mine and thine. 
2dly. As it relates to the husband and wife sepa- 
rately ; and, 1st, To the husband. — Nature 
of his power; — His love ; — He should set a 
good example to his wife; — His chastity 
should be unspotted. Zdly, To the wife. — 
Obedience ; — Compliance. 



* Funeral Sermon on the Archbishop of Armagh, 
f Sermon xvii. p. 122* 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



27 



MARRIAGE COMPARED WITH SINGLE LIFE. 

Marriage is a school and exercise of virtue; 
and though marriage hath cares, yet the single 
life hath desires, which are more troublesome 
and more dangerous, and often end in sin ; while 
the cares are but instances of duty, and exercises 
of piety ; and therefore if single life hath more 
privacy of devotion, yet marriage hath more neces- 
sities and more variety of it, and is an exercise of 
more graces. 

Marriage is the proper scene of piety and 
patience, of the duty of parents and the charity 
of relations ; here kindness is spread abroad, and 
love is united and made firm as a centre ; mar- 
riage is the nursery of heaven. The virgin sends 
prayers to God ; but she carries but one soul to 
him : but the state of marriage fills up the num- 
bers of the elect, and hath in it the labour of 
love, and the delicacies of friendship, the blessing 
©f society, and the union of hands and hearts. It 
hath in it less of beauty, but more of safety than 
the single life ; it hath more care, but less danger; 
it is more merry, and more sad ; is fuller of sor- 
rows, and fuller of joys : it lies under more bur- 
dens, but is supported by all the strengths of love 
and charity, and those burdens are delightful. 



28 



SELECTIONS 



Marriage is the mother of the world, and pre- 
serves kingdoms, and fills cities, and churches, 
and heaven itself. Celibate, like the fly in the 
heart of an apple, dwells in a perpetual sweet- 
ness ; but sits alone, and is confined and 
dies in singularity ; but marriage, like the use- 
ful bee, builds a house and gathers sweetness 
from every flower, and labours and unites into 
societies and republics, and sends out colonies, 
and feeds the world with delicacies, and obeys 
their king, and keeps order, and exercises many 
virtues, and promotes the interest of mankind, 
and is that state of good things to which God 
hath designed the present constitution of the 
world. 



CAUTION REQUISITE IN MARRYING. 

They that enter into the state of marriage 
cast a die of the greatest contingency, and yet of 
the greatest interest in the world, next to the last 
throw for eternity. Life or death, felicity or a 
lasting sorrow, are in the power of marriage. A 
woman, indeed, ventures most, for she hath no 
sanctuary to retire to from an evil husband ; she 
must dwell upon her sorrow, and hatch the eggs 
which her own folly or infelicity hath produced ; 
and she is more under it because her tormentor 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



29 



hath a warrant of prerogative, and the woman 
may complain to God as subjects do of tyrant 
princes ; but otherwise she hath no appeal in the 
causes of unkindness. And though the man can 
run from many hours of his sadness, yet he must 
return to it again ; and when he sits among his 
neighbours, he remembers the objection that is in 
his bosom, and he sighs deeply. The boys, and 
the pedlars, and the fruiterers, shall tell of this 
man when he is carried to his grave, that he lived 
and died a poor wretched person. 

The stags in the Greek epigram, whose knees 
were clogged with frozen snow upon the moun- 
tains, came down to the brooks of the valleys, 
hoping to thaw their joints with the waters of the 
stream ; but there the frost overtook them, and 
bound them fast in ice, till the young herdsmen 
took them in their stranger snare. It is the un- 
happy chance of many men, finding many incon- 
veniences upon the mountains of single life, they 
descend into the valleys of marriage to refresh 
their troubles ; and there they enter into fetters, 
and are bound to sorrow by the cords of a man's 
*)r woman's peevishness. 

As the Indian women enter into folly for the 
price of an elephant, and think their crime war- 
rantable, so do men and women- change their 



30 



SELECTIONS 



liberty for a rich fortune (like Eriphile the Argive \ 
she preferred gold before a good man), and show 
themselves to be less than money, by overvaluing 
that to all the content and wise felicity of their 
lives ; and when they have counted the money 
and their sorrows together, how willingly would 
they buy, with the loss of all that money, mo- 
desty, or sweet nature to their relative ! 

As very a fool is he that chooses for beauty 
principally ; — " Cui sunt eruditi oculi et stulta 
mens," (as one said,) whose eyes are witty and 
their souls sensual : it is an ill band of affections 
to tie two hearts together by a little thread of red 
and white : and they can love no longer but until 
the next ague comes ; and they are fond of each 
other but at the chance of fancy, or the small-pox, 
or child-bearing, or care, or time, or any thing that 
can destroy a pretty flower. 



THEY OUGHT, WHEN NEWLY MARRIED, TO 
AVOID OFFENDING EACH OTHER. 

Man and wife are equally concerned to avoid 
all offences of each other in the beginning of their 
conversation : every little thing can blast an infant 
blossom ; and the breath of the south can shake 
the little rings of the vine, when first they begin 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



31 



to curl like the locks of a new-weaned boy : but 
when by age and consolidation they stiffen into the 
hardness of a stem, and have, by the warm em- 
braces of the sun and the kisses of heaven, 
brought forth their clusters, they can endure the 
storms of the north, and the loud noises of a 
tempest, and yet never be broken : so are the early 
unions of an unfixed marriage ; watchful and ob- 
servant, jealous and busy, inquisitive and careful, 
and apt to take alarm at every unkind word. 
After the hearts of the man and the wife are en- 
deared and hardened by a mutual confidence and 
experience, longer than artifice and pretence can 
last, there are a great many remembrances, and 
some things present that dash all little unkind- 
nesses in pieces. 



THEY SHOULD CAREFULLY AVOID LITTLE 
VEXATIONS. 

Let man and wife be careful to stifle little 
things, that as fast as they spring they be cut 
down and trod upon ; for if they be suffered to 
grow by numbers, they make the spirit peevish, 
and the society troublesome, and the affections 
loose and easy by an habitual aversation. Some 



32 



SELECTIONS 



men are more vexed with a fly than with a wound ; 
and when the gnats disturb our sleep, and the 
reason is disquieted, but not perfectly awakened, it 
is often seen that he is fuller of trouble than if, in 
the day-light of his reason, he were to contest with 
a potent enemy. In the frequent little accidents 
of a family, a man's reason cannot always be 
awake; and, when the discourses are imperfect, 
and a trifling trouble makes him yet more restless, 
he is soon betrayed to the violence of passion. 

THEY SHOULD ABSTAIN FROM THOSE THINGS 
FROM WHICH THEY ARE RESPECTIVELY 
AVERSE. 

Let them be sure to abstain from all those 
things which, by experience and observation, they 
find to be contrary to each other. They that 
govern elephants never appear before them in 
white. 



THEY SHOULD AVOID NICE DISTINCTIONS OF 
MINE AND THINE. 

Let the husband and wife infinitely avoid a 
curious distinction of mine and thine ; for this 
hath caused all the laws, and all the suits, and all 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



33, 



the wars in the world. Let them who have but' 
one person, have also but one interest. As the 
earth, the mother of all creatures here below, 
sends up all its vapours and proper emissions at 
the command of the sun, and yet requires them 
again to refresh her own needs, and they are 
deposited between them both in the bosom of a 
cloud, as a common receptacle, that they may 
cool his flames, and yet descend to make her 
fruitful : so are the proprieties of a wife to be 
disposed of by her lord ; and yet all are for her 
provisions, it being a part of his need to refresh 
and . supply hers ; and it serves' the interest of 
both while it serves the necessities of either. 

These are the duties of them both, which have 
common regards and equal necessities and obli- 
gations; and indeed there is scarce any matter 
of duty but it concerns them both alike, and is 
only distinguished by names, and hath its variety 
by circumstances and little accidents; and what 
in one is called love, in the other is called re- 
verence; and what in the wife is obedience, the 
same in the man is duty. He provides and she 
dispenses ; he gives commandments and she rules 
by them ; he rules her by authority, and she 
rules him by love; she ought by all means to 
please him, and he must by no means displease 
her. For as the heart is set in the midst of the 

D 



34 



SELECTIONS 



body, and though it strikes to one side by the 
prerogative of nature, yet those throbs and con- 
stant motions are felt on the other side also, and 
the influence is equal to both : so it is in conjugal 
duties, some motions are to the one side more 
than to the other ; but the interest is on both, and 
the duty is equal in the several instances. 



THE DUTY AND POWER OF THE MAN. 

The next inquiry is more particular, and con- 
siders the power and duty of the man : * Let every 
one of you so love his wife even as himself/ Thou 
art to be a father and a mother to her, and a 
brother; and great reason, unless the state of 
marriage should be no better than the condition of 
an orphan. For she that is bound to leave father, 
and mother, and brother for thee, either is miser- 
able like a poor fatherless child, or else ought to 
find all these, and more, in thee. 

his love. 

There is nothing can please a man without 
love ; and if a man be w r eary of the wise discourses 
of the apostles, and of the innocency of an even 
and private fortune, or hates peace or a fruitful 
year, he hath reaped thorns and thistles from the 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



35 



choicest flowers of paradise: for nothing can 
sweeten felicity itself but love. No man can tell 
but he that loves his children how many delicious 
accents make a man's heart dance in the pretty 
conversation of those dear pledges : their childish- 
ness, their stammering, their little angers, their 
innocence, their imperfections, their necessities, 
are so many little emanations of joy and comfort 
to him that delights in their persons and society :* 
but he that loves not his wife and children feeds a 
lioness at home, and broods a nest of sorrows; and 
blessing itself cannot make him happy : so that 

* Gentle Shepherd, Scene 2. 
I shall ha'e delight 
To hear their little plaints, and keep them right. 

Can greater pleasure be 
Than see sic wee tots toolying at your knee ; 
When a' they ettle at — their greatest wish, 
Is to be made of, and obtain a kiss ? 
See also Bums' s Cotter's Saturday Night, where the chil- 
dren are so beautifully described : — 

At length his lonely cot appears in view, 

Beneath the shelter of an aget tree ; 
Th' expectant wee-things toddling stacher thro' 

To meet their dad, wi' flichterin noise an' glee, 
His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnily, 

His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie's smile, 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee, 

Does a' his weary carking cares beguile, 
An' makes him quite forget his labour an' his toil. 



36 



SELECTIONS 



all the commandments of God enjoining a man to 
love his wife, are nothing but so many necessities 
and capacities of joy. She that is lov'd is safe, 
and he that loves is joyful. 

HE SHOULD SET A G 00 D EXAMPLE TO HIS WIFE; 

Ulysses was a prudent man, and a wary 
counsellor, sober and severe; and he effbrmed his 
wife into such imagery as he desired ; and she was 
chaste as the snows upon the mountains ; diligent 
as the fatal sisters; always busy and always 
faithful, she had a lazy tongue, and a busy hand. 

HIS CH ISTITT SHOULD BE UNSPOTTED. 

Above all the instances of love, let him pre- 
serve towards her an inviolable faith and an un- 
spotted chastity, for this is the 1 Marriage Ring 
it ties two hearts by an eternal band ; it is like the 
cherubim's flaming sword, set for the guard of pa- 
radise ; for he that passes into that garden, now 
that it is immured by Christ and the church, 
enters into the shades of death. 

Now, in this grace, it is fit that the wisdom 
aud severity of the man should hold forth a pure 
taper, that his wife may, by seeing the beauties 
and transparency of that crystal, dress her mind 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



37 



and her body by the light of so pure reflections. 
These are the little lines of a man's duty; which, 
like threads of light from the body of the sun, do 
clearly describe all the regions of his proper obliga- 
tions. Now, concerning the woman s duty, although 
it consists in doing whatsoever her husband com- 
mands, and so receives measures from the rules of 
his government; yet there are also some lines 
of life depicted upon her hands, by which sne 
may read and know how to proportion out ner 
duty to her husband : — 



OBEDIENCE. 

The wife can be no ways happy unless she be 
governed by a prudent lord, whose commands are 
sober counsels, whose authority is paternal, whose 
orders are provisions, and whose sentences are 
charity. 

COMPLIANCE. 

To partake secretly, and in her heart, of all 
his joys and sorrows, to believe him comely and 
fair, though the sun hath drawn a cypress over him, 
(for as marriages are not to be contracted by the 
hands and eyes, but with, reason and the heart ; 
so are these judgments to be made by the mind, 



8^ 



SELECTION S 



not bv the sight:) and diamonds cannot make the 
-woman virtuous, nor him to value her who sees her 
put them off then, when chastity and modesty are 
her brightest ornaments. Indeed the outward 
ornament is fit to take foois ; but they are not 
worth the taking-. But she that hath a wise lras- 
band, must entice him to an eternal dearness, by 
the veil of modesty, and the grave robes of chas- 
tity, the ornament of meekness, and the jewels of 
faith and charity; her brightness must be purity, 
and she must shine round about with sweetnesses 
and friendship, and she shall be pleasant while she 
lives, and desired when she dies. 



CONCLUSION. 

Remember the days of darkness, for they 
are many; the joys of the bridal chamber are 
quickly past, and the remaining portion of the 
state is a dull progress, without variety of joys, 
but not without the change of sorrows ; but that 
portion that shall enter into the grave must be 
eternal. It is ht that I should infuse a bunch of 
myrrh into the festival goblet; and, after the 
Egyptian manner, serve up a dead man's bones at 
a feast. I will only show it and take it away 
again ; it will make the wine bitter, but wholesome, 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



39 



ON CHRISTIANITY. 

Jesus entered into the world with all the 
circumstances of poverty. He had a star to 
illustrate his birth; but a stable for his bed- 
chamber, and a manger for his cradle. The 
angels sang hymns when he was born; but he 
was cold, and cried, uneasy and unprovided. 

All that Christ came for was, or was mingled 
with, sufferings: for all those little joys which 
God sent, either to recreate his person, or to 
illustrate his office, were abated or attended 
with afflictions ; God being more careful to esta- 
blish in him the covenant of sufferings, than to 
refresh his sorrows. Presently after the angels 
had finished their hallelujahs, he was forced to 
fly to save his life, and the air became full of 
shrieks of the desolate mothers of Bethlehem for 
their dying babes. God had no sooner made him 
illustrious with a voice from heaven, and the 
descent of the Holy Ghost upon him in the 
waters of baptism, but he was delivered over to be 
tempted and assaulted by the devil in the wilder- 
ness. His transfiguration was a bright ray of 
glory ; but then also he entred into a cloud, and 
was told a sad story what he was to suffer at 



40 



SELECTIONS 



Jerusalem. And upon Palm Sunday, when he 
rode triumphantly into Jerusalem, and was adorned 
with the acclamations of a king and a god, he 
wet the palms with his tears, sweeter than the 
drops of manna, or the little pearls of heaven that 
descended upon mount Hermon ; weeping in the 
midst of this triumph over obstinate, perishing, 
and malicious Jerusalem. 

They that had overcome the world could not 
strangle Christianity. But so have I seen the sun 
with a little ray of distant light challenge all the 
power of darkness, and without violence and noise 
climbing up the hill, hath made night so to retire, 
that its memory was lost in the joys and spright- 
fulness of the morning: and Christianity without 
violence or armies, without resistance and self- 
preservation, without strength or humane elo- 
quence, without challenging of privileges or 
fighting against tyranny, without alteration of 
government and scandal of princes, with its humi- 
lity and meekness, with toleration and patience, 
with obedience and charity, with praying and 
dying, did insensibly turn the w r orld into christian, 
and persecution into victory.* 

* The following Extract is from the 9th of Sherlock's Discourses. 

Go to your Natural Religion: lay before her Mahomet 
and his disciples, arrayed in armour and in blood, riding in 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



41 



I have often seen young and unskilful persons 
sitting in a little boat, when every little wave 
sporting about the sides of the vessel, and every 
motion and dancing of the barge seemed a danger, 
and made them cling fast upon their fellows ; 
and yet all the while they were as safe as if they 



triumph over the spoils of thousands and tens of thousands 
who fell by his victorious sword : shew her the cities which he 
set in flames, the countries which he ravaged and destroyed, 
and the miserable distress of all the inhabitants of the earth. 
When she has viewed him in this scene, carry her into his re- 
tirements : shew her the prophet's chamber, his concubines 
and wives ; let her see his adultery, and hear him allege 
revelation and his divine commission to justify his lust and his 
oppression. When she is tired with this prospect, then shew 
her the blessed Jesus, humble and meek, doing good to all the 
sons of men, patiently instructing both the ignorant and the 
perverse : let her see him in his most retired privacies : let 
her follow him to the mount, and hear his devotions and sup- 
plications to God : carry her to his table to view his poor 
fare, and hear his heavenly discourse : let her see him injured, 
but not provoked : let her attend him to the tribunal, and 
consider the patience with which he endured the scoffs and 
reproaches of his enemies : lead her to the cross, and let her 
view him in the agony of death, and hear his last prayer for 
his persecutors : " Father, forgive them, for they know not 
what they do !" 

When Natural Religion has viewed both, ask, Which is 
the -prophet of God ? 



42 



SELECTIONS 



sate under a tree, while a gentle wind shaked the 
leaves into a refreshment and a cooling shade. 
And the unskilful, ui experienced christian shrieks 
out when ever his vessel shakes, thinking it always 
a danger, that the watery pavement is not stable 
and resident like a rock ; and yet all his danger is 
in himself, none at all from without; for he is 
indeed moving upon the waters, but fastened to a 
rock; faith is his foundation, and hope is his 
anchor, and death is his harbour, and Christ is 
his pilot, and heaven is his country ; and all the 
evils of poverty, or affronts of tribunals and evil 
judges, of fears and sadder apprehensions, are 
but like the loud wind blowing from the right 
point, they make a noise, and drive faster to the 
harbour: and if we do not leave the ship, and 
leap into the sea ; quit the interest cf religion, 
and run to the securities of the world ; cut our 
cables, and dissolve our hopes ; grow impatient, 
and hug a wave, and die in its embraces ; we are 
as safe at sea, safer in the storm which God sends 
us, than in a calm when we are befriended with 
the world.* 

Presently it came to pass that men were 



* The Faith and Patience of the Saints; Serm. ix. and xL 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



43 



no longer ashamed of the cross, but it was worn 
upon breasts, printed in the air,* drawn upon fore- 

* Bacon in his New Atlantis, says : — 

" About twenty years after the ascension of our Saviour 
" it came to pass, that there was seen by the people of Renfusa, 
" a city upon the eastern coast of our island, within night, the 
" night was cloudy and calm, as it might be some mile into 
" the sea, a great pillar of light; not sharp, but in form of a 
" column or cylinder rising from the sea, a great way up 
" towards heaven : and on the top of it was seen a large cross 
" of light, more bright and resplendent than the body of the 
" pillar. Upon which so strange a spectacle, the people of 
" the city gathered apace together upon the sands to wonder ; 
" and so after put themselves into a number of small boats, to 
" go nearer to this marvellous sight. But when the boats 
" were come within about sixty yards of the pillar, they 
" found themselves all bound, and could go no further, yet so 
" as they might move to go about, but might not approach 
" nearer : so as the boats stood all as in a theatre, beholding 
ei this light as an heavenly sign. It so fell out, that there 
" was in one of the boats one of the wise men of the society of 
" Solomon's house, which house or college, my good brethren, 
" is the very eye of this kingdom; who having awhile atten- 
" tively and devoutly viewed and contemplated this pillar and 
" cross, fell down upon his face ; and then raised himself upon 
" his knees, and lifting up his hands to heaven, made his 
" prayers. 

" When he had made his prayer, he presently found the 
rt boat he was in moveable and unbound ; whereas all the rest 
" remained still fast ; and taking that for an assurance of 
" leave to approach, he caused the boat to be softly and with 



44 



SELECTIONS 



heads, carried upon banners, put upon crowns 
imperial — presently it came to pass that the reli- 
gion of the despised Jesus did infinitely prevail : 
a religion that taught men to be meek and humble, 
apt to receive injuries, but unapt to do any ; a 
religion that gave countenance to the poor and 
pitiful, in a time when riches were adored, and 
ambition and pleasure had possessed the heart of 
all mankind : a religion that would change the 
face of things, and the hearts of men, and break 
vile habits into gentleness and counsel. That 
such a religion, in such a time, by the sermons 
and conduct of fishermen, men of mean breeding 
and illiberal arts, should so speedily triumph over 
the philosophy of the world, and the arguments 
of the subtle, and the sermons of the eloquent ; 
the power of princes and the interests of states, 
the inclinations of nature and the blindness of 
zeal, the force of custom and the solicitation of 



u silence rowed towards the pillar. But ere he came near it, 
" the pillar and cross of light brake up, and cast itself 
"abroad, as it were into a firmament of many stars; which 
" also vanished soon after, and there was nothing left to be 
" seen but a small ark or chest of cedar, dry, and not wet at 
" all with water, though it swam. And in the fore- end of it 
" which was towards him, grew a small green branch of 
? palm." 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



45 



passions, the pleasures of sin and the busy arts 
of the devil ; that is against wit and power, 
superstition and wilfulness, fame and money 9 
nature and empire, which are all the causes in 
this world that can make a thing impossible; 
this, this is to be ascribed to the power of God, 
and is the great demonstration of the resurrection 
of Jesus. Every thing was an argument for it, 
and improved it; no objection could hinder it, 
no enemies destroy it; whatsoever was for them, 
it made the religion to increase ; whatsoever was 
against them, made it to increase ; sun-shine and 
storms, fair weather or foul, it was all one as to 
the event of things : for they were instruments in 
the hands of God, who could make what himself 
should chuse to be the product of any cause; so 
that if the christians had peace, they went abroad 
and brought in converts; if they had no peace, 
but persecution, the converts came in to them. 
In prosperity they allured and enticed the world 
by the beauty of holiness; in affliction and trouble 
they amazed all men with the splendor of their 
innocence, and the glories of their patience ; and 
quickly it was that the world became disciple to 
the glorious Nazarene, and men could no longer 
doubt of the resurrection of Jesus, when it became 
so demonstrated by the certainty of them that saw 



46 



SELECTIONS 



it, and the courage of them that died for it, and 
the multitude of them that believed it ; who by 
their sermons and their actions, by their publick 
offices and discourses, by festivals and eucharists, 
by arguments of experience and sense, by reason 
and religion, by persuading rational men, and 
establishing believing christians, by their living in 
the obedience of Jesus, and dying for the tes- 
timony of Jesus, have greatly advanced his king- 
dom, and his power, and his glory, into which he 
entered after his resurrection from the dead.* 

OF TRUE AND OF MOCK RELIGION. 

I have seen a female religion that wholly 
dwelt upon the face and tongue ; that like a 
wanton and an undressed tree spends all its juice 
in suckers and irregular branches, in leaves and 
gum, and after all such goodly outsides you should 
never eat an apple, or be delighted with the beau- 
ties, or the perfumes of a hopeful blossom. But 
the religion of this excellent lady was of another 
constitution ; it took root downward in humility, 
and brought forth fruit upward in the substantial 
graces of a christian, in charity and justice, in chas- 



* Sermon preached at the Funeral of the Lord Primate. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



47 



tity and modesty, in fair friendships and sweet- 
ness of society : she had not very much of the 
forms and outsides of godliness, but she was 
hugely careful for the power of it, for the moral, 
essential, and useful parts : such which would 
make her be, not seem to be, religious. 

In all her religion, and in all her actions of 
relation towards God, she had a strange evenness 
and untroubled passage, sliding toward her ocean 
of God and of infinity with a certain and silent 
motion. So have I seen a river deep and smooth 
passing with a still foot and a sober face, and pay- 
ing to the Fiscus the great exchequer of the sea, 
the prince of all the watery bodies, a tribute large 
and full : and hard by it a little brook skipping 
and making a noise upon its unequal and neigh- 
bour bottom ; and after all its talking and 
bragged motion, it payed to its common audit no 
more than the revenues of a little cioud, or a con- 
temptible vessel: so have I sometimes compared 
the issues of her religion to the solemnities and 
famed outsides of another's piety. It dwelt upon 
her spirit, and was incorporated with the perio- 
dical work of every day ; she did not believe that 
religion was intended to minister to fame and re- 
pu^tion, but to pardon of sins, to the pleasure of 
God, and the salvation of souls. For religion is 



48 



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like the breath of heaven ; if it goes abroad into 
the open air, it scatters and dissolves. 

THE DANGER OF PROSPERITY. 

As long as the waters of persecutions are upon 
the earth, so long we dwell in the ark ; but where 
the land is dry, the dove itself will be tempted to 
a wandering course of life, and never to return to 
the house of her safety.* 

Many are not able to suffer and endure pros- 
perity ; it is like the light of the sun to a weak 
eye, — glorious indeed in itself, but not propor- 
tioned to such an instrument.! 

In the tomb cf Terentia certain lamps burned 
under ground many ages together ; but as soon 
as ever they were brought into the air, and saw a 
bigger light, they went out, never to be re- 
enkindled. So long as we are in the retirements 
of sorrow, of want, of fear, of sickness, or of any 
sad accident, we are burning and shining lamps ; 
but when God comes with his avoxo, with his 
forbearance, and lift us up from the gates of death, 
and carries us abroad into the open air, that we 

* The Faith and Patience of the Saints ; Serm. x. 272. 
f The Mercy of the Divine Judgments; Serm. xii. 29.0. 
" We are as safe at sea, safer in the storm which God 
sends us, than in a calm when we are befriended with the 
world." 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



49 



converse with prosperity and temptation, we go 
out in darkness; and we cannot be preserved in 
heat and light, but by still dwelling in the regions 
of sorrow.* 

If God suffers men to go on in sins, and 
punishes them not, it is not a mercy, it is not a 
forbearance ; it is a hardening them, a consigning 
them to ruin and reprobation : and themselves 
give the best argument to prove it ; for they con- 
tinue in their sin, they multiply their iniquity, and 
every day grow more enemy to God ; and that is 
no mercy that increases their hostility and enmity 
with God. A prosperous iniquity is the most un- 
prosperous condition in the whole world. When 
he slew them, they sought him and turned them 
early, and enquired after God ; but as long as 
they prevailed upon their enemies, they forgat 
that God was their strength, and the high God 
was their redeemer. It was well observed by the 
Persian embassador of old ; when he was telling 
the king a sad story of the overthrow of all his 
army by the Athenians, he adds this of his own ; 
that the day before the fight, the young Persian 
gallants, being confident they should destroy their 
enemies, were drinking drunk, and railing at the 



* Ibid. 292. 



3 



50 



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timorousness and fears of religion, and against all 
their gods, saying, there were no such things, and 
that all things came by chance and industry, 
nothing by the providence of the supreme power. 
But the next day, when they had fought unpros- 
perously, and, flying from their enemies, who were 
eager in their pursuit, they came to the river Stry- 
mon, which was so frozen that their boats could 
not launch, and yet it began to thaw, so that they 
feared the ice would not bear them ; then you 
should see the bold gallants, that the day before 
said there was no God, most timorously and 
superstitiously fall upon their faces, and beg of 
God that the river Strymon might bear them over 
from their enemies. What wisdom, and philoso- 
phy, and perpetual experience, and revelation, 
and promises, and blessings cannot do, a mighty 
fear can ; it can allay the confidences of bold lust 
and imperious sin, and soften our spirit into the 
lowness of a child, our revenge into charity of 
prayers, our impudence into the blushings of a 
chidden girl ; and therefore God hath taken a 
course proportionable : for he is not so unmerci- 
fully merciful as to give milk to an infirm lust, and 
hatch the egg to the bigness of a cockatrice. And 
therefore observe how it is that God's mercy pre- 
vails over all his works ; it is even then when 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



51 



nothing can be discerned but his judgments, 
for as when a famine had been in Israel in the 
days of Ahab for three years and a half, when the 
angry prophet Elijah met the king, and presently 
a great wind arose, and the dust blew into the 
eyes of them that walked abroad, and the face of 
the heavens was black and all tempest, yet then 
the prophet was most gentle, and God began to 
forgive, and the heavens were more beautiful than 
when the sun puts on the brightest ornaments of a 
bridegroom, going from his chambers of the east. 
So it is in the economy of the divine mercy : when 
God makes our faces black, and the winds blow 
so loud till the cordage cracks, and our gay for- 
tunes split, and our houses are dressed with cypress 
and yew, and the mourners go about the streets, 
this is nothing but the pompa miser icor dice, this is 
the funeral of our sins, dressed indeed with em- 
blems of mourning, and proclaimed with sad 
accents of death ; but the sight is refreshing, as 
the beauties of the field which God had blessed, 
and the sounds are healthful, as the noise of a 
physician.* 

The caresses of a pleasant fortune are apt 
to swell into extravagances of spirit, and burst 
into the dissolution of manners ; and unmixt joy 

* The Mercy of the Divine Judgments; Serm. xii. pages 
286, 288, 295. 



52 



SELECTIONS 



is dangerous : but if in our fairest flowers we spy 
a locust, or feel the uneasiness of a sackcloth 
under our fine linen, or our purple be tied with an 
uneven and a rude cord; any little trouble, but 
to correct our wildnesses, though it be but a 
death's-head served up at our feasts, it will make 
our tables fuller of health and freer from snare, it 
will allay our spirits, making them to retire from 
the weakness of dispersion, to the union and 
strength of a sober recollection. 

ON PASSION AND REASON. 

Truth enters into the heart of man when it 
is empty, and clean, and still ; but when the mind 
is shaken with passion as with a storm, you can 
never hear the voice of the charmer though he 
charm ever so wisely : and you will very hardly 
sheathe a sword when it is held by a loose and a 
paralytic arm.* 

THE PROSTITUTE. 

They pay their souls down for the bread they 
eat, buying this day's meal with the price of the 
last night's sin.f 



* Sermon preached to the University of Dublin, 
f Holy Dying, ch. 1. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



53 



ON ANGER. 

In contentions be always passive, never active 
upon the defensive, not the assaulting part ; and 
then also give a gentle answer, receiving the fu- 
ries and indiscretions of the other like a stone into 
a bed of moss and soft compliance ;* and you shall 
find it sit down quietly : whereas anger and vio- 
lence make the contention loud and long, and 
injurious to both the parties. 

Consider that anger is a professed enemy to 
counsel; it is a direct storm, in which no man 
can be heard to speak or call from without : for 
if you counsel gently, you are despised; if you 



* When Sir Matthew Hale dismissed the jury because he 
was convinced that it had been illegally selected, to favour 
the Protector, Cromwell was highly displeased with him, 
and at his return from the circuit, he told him in anger he 
was not fit to be a judge, to which all the answer he made 
was that, it was very true." 

Abou Hanifah fut le chef des Hanifites. Ce Socrate 
Musulman donnoit a sa secte des lecpons et des exemples. Un 
brutal lui ayant donne un soufflet ce Mahometan repondit ces 
paroles dignes d' un Chretien : " si j' etois vindicatif, je 
vous rendrois outrage pour outrage ; si j' etois un delateur je 
vous accuserois devant le Calife : mais j' aime mieux de- 
mander a Dieu, qu'au jour du jugement il me fasse entrer 
au ciel avec vous." 



54 



SELECTIONS. 



urge it and be vehement, you provoke it more. Be 
careful therefore to lay up before-hand a great 
stock of reason and prudent consideration, that 
like a beseiged town, you may be provided for, 
and be defensible from within, since you are not 
likely to be relieved from without. Anger is not 
to be suppressed but by something that is as in- 
ward as itself, and more habitual. To which 
purpose add, that of all passions it endeavours 
most to make reason useless : that it is an uni- 
versal poison, of an infinite object; for no man 
was ever so amorous as to love a toad, none so 
envious as to repine at the condition of the mi- 
serable, no man so timorous as to fear a dead bee; 
but anger is troubled at every thing, and every 
man, and every accident, and therefore unless it 
be suppressed, it will make a man's condition 
restless. If it proceeds from a great cause, it 
turns to fury ; if from a small cause, it is peevish- 
ness ; and so is always either terrible or ridiculous. 
It makes a man's body monstrous, deformed, and 
contemptible, the voice horrid, the eyes cruel, the 
face pale or fiery, the gait fierce, the speech 
clamorous and loud. It is neither manly nor in- 
genuous. It proceeds from softness of spirit and 
pusillanimity ; which makes that women are more 
angry than men, sick persons more than healthful, 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



55 



old men more than young, unprosperous and cala- 
mitous people than the blessed and fortunate.* It 
is a passion fitter for flies and insects than for 
persons professing nobleness and bounty. It is 
troublesome not only to those that suffer it, but 
to them that behold it : there being no greater in- 
civility of entertainment than for the cook's fault, 
or the negligence of the servants, to be cruel, or 
outrageous, or unpleasant in the presence of the 
guests. It makes marriage to be a necessary and 
unavoidable trouble ; friendships, and societies, 
and familiarities to be intolerable. It multiplies 
the evils of drunkenness, and makes the levities 
of wine to run into madness. It makes innoce n t 
jesting to be the beginning of tragedies. It turns 
friendship into hatred : it makes a man lose him- 
self and his reason and his argument in disputa- 
tion. It turns the desires of knowleg-e into an 
itch of wrangling. It adds insolency to power. 
It turns justice into cruelty, and judgment into 
oppression. It changes discipline into tediousness 
and hatred of liberal institution. It makes a pros- 
perous man to be envied, and the unfortunate to 
be unpitied. It is a confluence of all the irregular 
passions : there is in it envy and sorrow, fear and 



* See Bacon's Essay on Anger. 



56 



SELECTIONS. 



scorn, pride and prejudice, rashness and inconsi- 
deration, rejoicing in evil and a desire to inflict it, 
self-love, impatience, and curiosity. And lastly, 
though it be very troublesome to others, yet it is 
most troublesome to him that hath it. 

Only observe that such an anger alone is cri- 
minal which is against charity to myself or my 
neighbour ; but anger against sin is a holy zeal, 
and an effect of love to God and my brother, for 
whose interest I am passionate, like a concerned 
person : and, if I take care that my anger makes 
no reflection of scorn or cruelty upon the offender, 
or of pride and violence, or transportation to my- 
self, anger becomes charity and duty * And when 
one commended Charilaus, the king of Sparta, for 
a gentle, a good, and a meek prince, his colleague 
said well, " How can he be good, who is not an 
enemy even to vicious persons ?"f 



* Hooker's Anger is said to have been like a vial of clear 
water, which, when shook, beads at the top, but instantly 
subsides, without any soil or sediment of uncharitableness 
t Holy Living, chap. iv. sect. 8. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



57 



ON SICKNESS. 

At the first address and presence of sickness 
stand still and arrest thy spirit, that it may 
without amazement or affright consider that this 
was that thou lookedst for, and wert always certain 
should happen, and that now thou art to enter 
into the actions of a new religion, the agony of a 
strange constitution : but at no hand suffer thy 
spirits to be dispersed with fear, or wildness of 
thought, but stay their looseness and dispersion by 
a serious consideration of the present and future 
employment. For so doth the Libyan lion, spy- 
ing the fierce huntsman, he first beats himself 
with the strokes of his tail, and curls up his spirits, 
making them strong with union and recollection ; 
till, being struck with a Mauritanian spear, he 
rushes forth into his defence and noblest conten- 
tion ; and either scapes into the secrets of his own 
dwelling, or else dies the bravest of the forest. 

In sickness the soul begins to dress herself for 
immortality. And first, she unties the strings of 
vanity that made her upper garment cleave to the 
world and sit uneasy. First she puts off the light 
and fantastick summer-robe of lust and wanton 
appetite. 

* See Theocritus, Idyll 25. line 230. 



53 



SELECTIONS 



Next to this, the soul by the help of sickness 
knocks off the fetters of pride, and vainer com- 
placencies. Then she draws the curtains, and 
stops the light from coming in, and takes the pic- 
tures down, those fantastic images of self-love, 
and gay remembrances of vain opinion, and po- 
pular noises. Then the spirit stoops into the 
sobrieties of humble thoughts, and feels corruption 
chiding the forwardness of fancy and allaying the 
vapours of conceit and factious opinions. 

Next to these, as the soul is still undressing, 
she takes off the roughness of her great and little 
angers and animosities, and receives the oil of 
mercies and smooth forgiveness, fair interpretations 
and gentle answers, designs of reconcilement and 
christian atonement, in their places. 

The temptations of this state, such I mean 
which are proper to it, are little and inconsidera- 
ble ; the man is apt to chide a servant too bitterly, 
and to be discontented with his nurse, or not sa- 
tisfied with his physician, and he rests uneasily, 
and (poor man) ! nothing can please him : and 
indeed these little undecencies must be cured and 
stopped, lest they run into an inconvenience. But 
sickness is in this particular a little image of the 
state of blessed souls, or of Adam's early morning 
in paradise, free from the troubles of lust, and 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



59 



violences of anger, and the intricacies of ambition, 
or the restlessness of covetousness. For though a 
man may carry all these along with him into his 
sickness, yet there he will not find them ; and in 
despite of all his own malice, his soul shall find 
some rest from labouring in the galleys and baser 
captivity of sin * 



THE PROGRESS OF SIN. 

I have seen the little purls of a spring sweat 
through the bottom of a bank, and intenerate the 
stubborn pavement, till it hath made it fit for the 
impression of a child's foot ; and it was despised, 
like the descending pearls of a misty morning, till 
it had opened its way, and made a stream large 
enough to carry away the ruins of the undermined 
strand, and to invade the neighbouring gardens : 
but then the despised drops were grown into an 
artificial river, and an intolerable mischief. So 
are the first entrances of sin, stopped with the 
antidotes of a hearty prayer, and checked into 
sobriety by the eye of a reverend man, or the 
counsels of a single sermon : but when such be- 
ginnings are neglected, and our religion hath not 



* Haly Dying, ch. iv. sect. 1. and ch. iii. sect, 6. 



6Q 



SELECTIONS 



in it so much philosophy as to think any thing 
evil as long as we can endure it, they grow up to 
ulcers, and pestilential evils ; they destroy the soul 
by their abode, who at their first entry might have 
been killed with the pressure of a little finger. 

He that hath past many stages of a good life, 
to prevent his being tempted to a single sin, must 
be very careful that he never entertain his spirit 
with the remembrances of his past sin, nor amuse 
it with the -fantastic apprehensions of the pre- 
sent. When the Israelites fancied the sapidness 
and relish of the flesh-pots, they longed to taste 
and to return. 

So when a Libyan tiger drawn from his 
wilder foragings is shut up and taught to eat civil 
meat, and suffer the authority of a man, he sits 
down tamely in his prison, and pays to his keeper 
fear and reverence for his meat : but if he chance 
to come again, and taste a draught of warm blood, 
he presently leaps into his natural cruelty. 

Admonitaeque tument gustato sanguine fauces : 
Fervet, et a trepido vix abstinet ira magistro. 

He scarce abstains from eating those hands that 
brought him discipline and food. So is the nature 
of a man made tame and gentle by the grace of 
God, and reduced to reason, and kept in awe by 
religion and laws, and by an awful virtue is taught 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



61 



to forget those alluring and sottish relishes of sin ; 
but if he diverts from his path, and snatches hand- 
fuls from the wanton vineyards, and remembers 
the lasciviousness of his unwholesome food that 
pleased his childish pa!ate; then he grows sick 
again, and hungry after unwholesome diet, and 
longs for the apples of Sodom, 

The Pannonian bears, when they have clasped 
a dart in the region of their liver, wheel themselves 
upon the wound, and with anger and malicious 
revenge strike the deadly barb deeper, and cannot 
be quit from that fatal steel, but in flying bear 
along that which themselves make the instrument 
of a more hasty death : so is every vicious person 
struck with a deadly wound, and his own hands 
force it into the entertainments of the heart; and 
because it is painful to draw it forth by a sharp 
and salutary repentance, he still rolls and turns 
upon his wound, and carries his death in his 
bowels, where it first entered by choice, and then 
dwelt by love, and at last shall finish the tragedy 
by divine judgments and an unalterable decree.* 

THE GOLDEN CALF. 
Formidable is the state of an intemperate 
man, whose sin begins with sensuality and grows 



* Of Growth in Sin; Serm, xvii. part. 2. 



62 



SELECTIONS 



up in folly and weak discourses, and is fed by vio- 
lence, and applauded by fools and parasites, full 
bellies and empty heads, servants and flatterers, 
whose hands are full of flesh and blood, and their 
hearts empty of pity and natural compassion ; 
where religion cannot inhabit, and the love of God 
must needs be a stranger ; whose talk is loud and 
trifling, injurious and impertinent, and whose em- 
ployment is the same with the work of the sheep 
or the calf, always to eat.* 

THE VIRTUOUS MIND. 

If I shall describe a living man, a man that 
hath that life that distinguishes him from a fowl or 
a bird, that which gives him a capacity next to 
angels ; we shall find that even a good man lives 
not long, because it is long before he is born to 
this life, and longer yet before he hath a man's 
growth. u Hef that can look upon death, and 
see its face with the same countenance with which 
he hears its story ; that can endure all the labours 
of his life with his soul supporting his body ; that 
can equally despise riches when he hath them, 
and when he hath them not ; that is not sadder 



* Sermons, xv. & xvi. 
f Seneca, De Vita Beata, cap. 20. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



63 



if they lie in his neighbour's trunks, nor more brag 
if they shine round about his own walls ; he that 
is neither moved with good fortune coming to 
him, nor going from him; that c n look upon 
another man's lands evenly and pieasedly as if 
they were his own, and yet look upon his own and 
use them too, just as if they were another man's ; 
that neither spends his goods prodigally, and like 
a fool, nor yet keeps them avariciously and like a 
wretch ; that weighs not benefits by weight and 
number, but by the mind and circumstances of 
him that gives them ; that never thinks his cha- 
rity expensive if a worthy person be the receiver ; 
he that does nothing for opinion's sake, but every 
thing for conscience, being as curious of his 
thoughts as of his actings in markets and theatres, 
and is as much in awe of himself as of a whole 
assembly : he that knows God looks on, and con- 
trives his secret affairs as in the presence of God 
and his holy angels ; that eats and drinks because 
he needs it, not that he may serve a lust or load 
his belly; he that is bountiful and cheerful to his 
friends, and charitable and apt to forgive his ene- 
mies ; that loves his country and obeys his prince, 
and desires and endeavours nothing more than 
that they may do honour to God :" this person 
may reckon his life to be the life of a man, and 



64 



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compute his months, not by the course of the sun, 
but the zodiac and circle of his virtues: because 
these are such things which fools and children, 
and bird, and beasts, cannot have : these are 
therefore the actions of life, because they are the 
seeds of immortality. That day in which we have 
done some excellent thing, we may as truly reckon 
to be added to our life, as were the fifteen years 
to the days of Hezekiah.^ 



* Holy Dying, cli. 1. 
I add the following extract from Seneca's Epistles: — 
I have applied myself to liberal studies, though both the 
poverty of my condition, and my own reason, might rather 
have put me upon the making of my fortune. I have given 
proof that all minds are capable of goodness ; and I have il- 
lustrated the obscurity of my family by the eminency of my 
virtue. I have preserved my faith in all extremities, and I 
have ventured my life for it. I have never spoken one word 
contrary to my conscience, and I have been more solicitous 
for my friend, than for myself: I never made any base sub- 
mission to any man ; and I have never done any thing un- 
worthy of a resolute and of an honest man. My mind is 
raised so much above all dangers, that I have mastered all 
hazards ; and I bless myself in the providence which gave me 
that experiment of my virtue : for it was not fit, methought, 
that so great glory should come cheap. Nay, I did not so 
much as deliberate, whether good faith should suffer for me, or 
I tor it. I stood my ground, without laying violent hands 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



65 



HUMAN RESOLUTIONS* 

I have seen a fair structure begun with art 
and care, and raised to half its stature, and then 
it stood still by the misfortune or negligence of 
the owner ; and the rain descended and dwelt in 
its joints, and supplanted the contexture of its 
pillars, and, having stood awhile, like the anti- 
quated temple of a deceased oracle, it fell into a 
hasty age, and sunk upon its own knees, and so 
descended into ruin : so is the imperfect, unfi- 
nished spirit of man ; it lays the foundation of a 
holy resolution, and strengthens it with vows and 
arts of prosecution; it raises up the walls, sacra- 
ments, and prayers, reading, and holy ordinances; 
and holy actions begin w 7 ith a slow motion, and 



upon myself, to escape the rage of the powerful ; though 
under Caligula I saw cruelties, to such a degree, that to be 
killed outright, was accounted a mercy. And yet I persisted 
in my honesty, to shew that I was ready to do more than die 
for it. My mind was never corrupted with gifts ; and when 
the humour of avarice was at the height, I never laid my hand 
upon any unlawful gain : I have been temperate in my diet ; 
modest in my discourse ; courteous and affable to my infe- 
riors ; and have ever paid a respect, and reverence to my 
betters. 

* Sermon on Lukewaramess and Zeal ; Serm. xiii. part 2. 

F 



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the building stays, and the spirit is weary, and 
the soul is naked and exposed to temptation, and 
in the days of storm takes in every thing that can 
do it mischief ; and it is faint and sick, listless 
and tired, and it stands till its own weight wearies 
the foundation, and then declines to death and 
sad disorder. 

PLEASURES OF UNDERSTANDING.* 
It is not the eye that sees the beauties of 
the heaven, nor the ear that hears the sweetness 
of music, or the glad tidings of a prosperous ac- 
cident, but the soul that perceives all the relishes 
of sensual and intellectual perfections ; and the 
more noble and excellent the soul is, the greater 
and more savory are its perceptions. And if a 
child beholds the rich ermine, or the diamonds of 
a starry night, or the order of the world, or hears 
the discourses of an apostle he makes no reflex 
acts upon himself. 

It is a great disreputation to the understand- 
ing of a man, to be so cozened and deceived, as 
to choose money before a moral virtue ; to please 
that which is common to him and beasts, rather 
than that part which is a communication of the 



* See note (C) at the end. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



67 



divine nature; to see him run after a bubble 
which himself hath made, and the sun hath par- 
ticoloured, and to despise a treasure which is 
offered to him to call him off from pursuing that 
emptiness and nothing. But so does every vicious 
person, feeds upon husks, and loaths manna.* 

ON THE PRESENCE OF GOD. 

God is every where present by his power. He 
rolls the orbs of heaven with his hand, he fixes the 
earth with his foot, he guides all the creatures with 
his eye, and refreshes them with his influence : he 
makes the powers of hell to shake with his terrors, 
and binds the devils with his word, and throws 
them out with his command, and sends the angels 
on embassies with his decrees : he hardens the 
joints of infants, and confirms the bones when 
they are fashioned beneath secretly in the earth. 
He it is that assists at the numerous productions 
of fishes, and there is not one hollowness in the 
bottom of the sea, but he shews himself to be lord 
of it, by sustaining there the creatures that come 
to dwell in it : and in the wilderness, the bittern 
and the stork, the dragon and the satyr, the 



* Holy Living, chap. i. sec. 3. 



68 



SELECTIONS 



unicorn and the elk, live upon his provisions, and 
revere his power, and feel the force of his al migh- 
tiness. 

Let every thing you see represent to your 
spirit the presence, the excellency, and the power 
of God, and let your conversation with the crea- 
tures lead you unto the Creator, for so shall your 
actions be done more frequently with an actual 
eye to God's presence, by your cften seeing him 
in the glass of the creation. In the face of the 
sun you may see God's beauty ; in the fire you 
may feel his heat warming ; in the water his gen- 
tleness to refresh you : it is the dew of heaven 
that makes your field give you bread.* 

THE RESURRECTION OF SINNERS. 

So have we seen a poor condemned criminal, 
the weight of whose sorrows sitting heavily upon 
his soul, hath benumbed him into a deep sleep 
till he hath forgotten his groans, and laid aside 
his deep sighiogs ; but on a sudden comes the 
messenger of death, and unbinds the poppy gar- 
land, scatters the heavy cloud that encircled his 
miserable head, and makes him return to acts of 



* Holy Living, chap. i. § 3. See Psalm.— Whither shall I 
go from thy presence, &c. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



69 



life, that he may quickly descend into death, and 
be no more. So is every sinner that lies down in 
shame, and makes his grave with the wicked ; he 
shall indeed rise again, and be called upon by the 
voice of the archangel ; but then he shall descend 
into sorrows greater than the reason and the pa- 
tience of a man, weeping and shrieking louder 
than the groans of the miserable children in the 
valley of Hinnom.* 

THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 
2 Cor. v. 10. 

(< For we must all appear before the judgment-seat of Christ, 
that every one may receive the things done in his body, 
according to that he hath done, whether it be good or 
bad." 

Virtue and vice are so essentially distin- 
guished, and the distinction is so necessary to be 
observed in order to the well-being of men in pri- 
vate and in societies, that to divide them in them- 
selves, and to separate them by sufficient notices, 
and to distinguish them by rewards, hath been 
designed by all laws, by the sayings of wise men, 
by the order of things, by their proportions to 



* Sermon preached at the funeral of the Lord Primate. 



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good or evil ; and the expectations of men have 
been framed accordingly : that virtue may have a 
proper seat in the will and in the affections, and 
may become amiable by its own excellency and; 
its apparent blessing; and that vice may be as 
natural an enemy to a man as a wolf to the lamb, 
and as darkness to light ; destructive of its being, 
and a contradiction of its nature. But it is not 
enough that all the world hath armed itself against 
vice, and, by all that is wise and sober among 
men, hath taken the part of virtue, adorning it 
with glorious appellatives, encouraging it by re- 
wards, entertaining it with sweetness, and com- 
manding it by edicts, fortifying it with defensatives, 
and twining with it in all artificial compliances : 
all this is short of man's necessity; for this will in 
all modest men secure their actions in theatres 
and high ways, in markets and churches, before 
the eye of judges, and in the society of witnesses : 
but the actions of closets and chambers, the de- 
signs and thoughts of men, their discourses in 
dark places, and the actions of retirements and of 
the night, are left indifferent to virtue or to vice ; 
and of these, as man can take no cognisance, so 
he can make no coercitive ; and therefore above 
one-half of human actions is by the laws of man 
left unregarded and unprovided for. And besides. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



71 



this, there are some men who are bigger than 
laws, and some are bigger than judges, and some 
judges have lessened themselves by fear and cow- 
ardice, by bribery and flattery, by iniquity and 
compliance ; and where they have not, yet they 
have notices but of few causes: and there are 
some sins so popular and universal, that to punish 
them is either impossible or intolerable ; and to 
question such would betray the weakness of the 
public rods and axes, and represent the sinner to 
be stronger than the power that is appointed to 
be his bridle. And after all this we find sinners 
so prosperous that they escape, so potent that they 
fear not •, and sin is made safe when it grows 
great — 

Facere omnia saeve 

Non impune licet, nisi dum facis 

and innocence is oppressed, and the poor cries, 
and he hath no helper; and he is oppressed, 
and he wants a patron. And for these and many 
other concurrent causes* if you reckon all the 
causes that come before all the judicatories of the 
world, though the litigious are too many, and the 
matters of instance are intricate and numerous, 
yet the personal and criminal are so few, that of 
two thousand sins that cry aloud to God for ven- 
geance, scarce two are noted by the public eye, 



72 



SELECTIONS. 



and chastised by the hand of justice. It must 
follow from hence, that it is but reasonable for the 
interest of virtue, and the necessities of the world, 
that the private should be judged, and virtue 
should be tied upon the spirit, and the poor should 
be relieved, and the oppressed should appeal, and 
the noise of widows should be heard, and the 
saints should stand upright, and the cause that 
was ill judged should be judged over again, and 
tyrants should be called to cccount, and our 
thoughts should be examined, and our secret 
actions viewed on all sides, and the infinite num- 
ber of sins which escape here should not escape 
finally. And therefore God hath so ordained it, 
that there shall be a day of doom, wherein all that 
are let alone by men shall be questioned by God, 
and every word, and every action shall receive its 
just recompence of reward. " For we must all 
appear before the judgment-seat of Christ, that 
every one may receive the things done in his body, 
according to that he hath done, whether it be 
good or bad " 

At the day of judgment every man's fear shall 
be increased by his neighbour's shrieks, and the 
amazement that all the world shall be in, shall 
unite as the sparks of a raging furnace into a 
globe of fire, and roll upon its own principle, and 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



73 



increase by direct appearances, and intolerable 
reflections. He that stands in a church-yard in 
the time of a great plague, and hears the passing- 
bell perpetually telling the sad stories of death, 
and sees crowds of infected bodies pressing to 
their graves, and others sick and tremulous, and 
death dressed up in all the images of sorrow 
round about him, is not supported in his spirit by 
the variety of his sorrow : and at doomsday, when 
the terrors are universal, besides that it is in 
itself so much greater, because it can affright the 
whole world, it is also made greater by communi- 
cation and a sorrowful influence ; grief being then 
strongly infectious, when there is no variety of 
state but an entire kingdom of fear ; and amaze- 
ment is the king of all our passions, and all the 
world its subjects ; and that shriek must needs be 
terrible, when millions of men and women at the 
same instant shall fearfully cry out, and the noise 
shall mingle with the trumpet of the archangel, 
with the thunders of the dying and groaning 
heavens, and the crack of the dissolving world, 
when the whole fabric of nature shall shake into 
dissolution and eternal ashes. But this general 
consideration may be heightened with four or five 
circumstances, 



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Consider what an infinite multitude of angels 
and men and women shall then appear. 

In this great multitude we shall meet all 
those, who by their example and their holy pre- 
cepts have, like tapers, enkindled with a beam of 
the sun of righteousness, enlightened us, and 
taught us to walk in the paths of justice. 

There shall appear the men of Capernaum, 
and the queen of the south, and the men of Berea, 
and the first-fruits of the christian church, and 
the holy martyrs, and shall proclaim to all the 
world, that it was not impossible to do the work 
of grace in the midst of all our weaknesses, and 
accidental disadvantages : and that the obedience 
of faith, and the labour of love, and the conten- 
tions of chastity, and the severities of temperance 
and self-denial, are not such insuperable moun- 
tains, but that an honest and sober person may 
perform them in acceptable degrees if he have but 
a ready ear, and a willing mind, and an honest 
heart. 

There men shall meet the partners of their 
sins, and them that drank the round when they 
crowned their heads with folly and forgetfulness, 
and their cups with wine and noises. There shall 
ye see that poor perishing soul, whom thou didst 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



75 



tempt to adultery and wantonness, to drunkenness 
or perjury, to rebellion or an evil interest, by 
power or craft, by witty discourses or deep dissem- 
bling, by scandal or a snare, by evil example or 
pernicious counsel, by malice or unwariness. 

That soul that cries to those rocks to cover 
her, if it had not been for thy perpetual temp- 
tations, might have followed the lamb in a white 
robe ; and that poor man, that is clothed with 
shame and flames of fire, would have shined in 
glory, but that thou didst force him to be partner 
of the baseness. 

The majesty of the judge, and the terrors of 
the judgment shall be spoken aloud by the imme- 
diate forerunning accidents, which shall be so 
great violences to the old constitutions of nature 
that it shall break her very bones, and disorder 
her till she be destroyed. 

The sea (they say) shall rise fifteen cubits 
above the highest mountains, and thence descend 
into hollowness and a prodigious drought; and 
when they are reduced again to their usual pro- 
portions, then all the beasts and creeping things, 
the monsters and the usual inhabitants of the sea 
shall be gathered together, and make fearful 
noises to distract mankind : the birds shall mourn 
and change their songs into threnes and sad ac- 



76 



SELECTIONS 



cents : rivers of fire shall rise from the east to 
west, and the stars shall be rent into threads of 
ligrht, and scatter like the beards of comets ; then 
shall be fearful earthquakes, and the rocks shall 
rend in pieces, the trees shall distil blood, and the 
mountains and fairest structures shall return into 
their primitive dust ; the wild beasts shall leave 
their dens, and come into the companies of men, 
so that you shall hardly tell how to call them, 
herds of men, or congregations of beasts ; then shall 
the graves open, and give up their dead, and those 
which are alive in nature and dead in fear, shall 
be forced from the rocks whither they went to hide 
them, and from caverns of the earth, where they 
would fain have been concealed; because their 
retirements are dismantled, and their rocks a r e 
broken into wider ruptures, and admit a strange 
light into their secret bowels ; and the men being 
forced abroad into the theatre of mighty horrors, 
shall run up anddowm distracted, and at their wits 
end. 

" The earth shall tremble, and the powers of 
the heavens shall be shaken, the sun shall be 
turned into darkness, and the moon into blood, 
the rocks shall rend, and the elements shall melt 
with fervent heat. The heavens shall be rolled 
up like a parehment, the earth shall be burned 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



77 



with fire, the hills shall be like wax, for there 
shall go a fire before him, and a mighty tempest 
shall be stirred round about him."* 

ON FRIENDSHIP AND GENERAL BENEVOLENCE. 

In a Discourse of the Nature, Offices, and Measures of 
Friendship, with Rules of conducting it : in a Letter to the 
most ingenious and excellent Mrs. Catharine Philips, in- 
quiring, e how far a dear and perfect friendship is au- 
thorised by the principles of Christianity.' 

The word friend is of a large signification ; and 
means all relations and societies, and whatsoever 
is not enemy. But by friendships, I suppose you 
mean the greatest love, and the greatest useful- 
ness, and the most open communication, and the 
noblest sufferings, and the most exemplar faith- 
fulness, and the severest truth, and the heartiest 
counsel, and the greatest union of minds, of 
which brave men and women are capable. 

Christian charity is friendship to all the 
world ; and when friendships were the noblest 
things in the world, charity was little, like the sun 
drawn in at a chink, or his beams drawn into the 
centre of a burning-glass ; but christian charity is 



* From Sermon entitled " Christ's Advent to Judgment 
which is the first in his Collection of Sermons. 



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SELECTIONS 



friendship expanded like the face of the sun when 
it mounts above the eastern hills : and I was 
strangely pleased when I saw something of this in 
Cicero ; for I have been so pushed at by herds 
and flocks of people that follow any body that 
whistles to them, or drives them to pasture, that 1 
am grown afraid of any truth that seems charge- 
able with singularity; but therefore I say, glad 
I was when I saw Lselius in Cicero discourse thus: 
" Amicitia ex innnitate generis humani quam con- 
ciliavit ipsa natura, contracta res est, et adductain 
angustum ; ut omnis charitas, aut inter duos, aut 
inter paucos jungeretur." Nature hath made 
friendships and societies, relations and endear- 
ments ; and by something or other we relate to all 
the world ; there is enough in every man that is 
willing to make him become our friend ; but when 
men contract friendships, they inclose the com- 
mons ; and what nature intended should be every 
man's, we make proper to two or three. Friend- 
ship is like rivers, and the strand of seas, and the 
air, — common to all the world ; but tyrants, and 
evil customs, wars and want of love have made 
them proper and peculiar. But when Christianity 
came to renew our nature, and to restore our laws, 
and to increase her privileges, and to make her 
aptness to become religion, then it was declared 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



79 



that our friendships were to be as universal as our 
conversation ; that is, actual to all with whom we 
converse, and potentially extended unto those with 
whom we did not. For he who was to treat his 
enemies with forgiveness and prayers, and love and 
beneficence, was indeed to have no enemies, and 
to have all friends. 

So that to your question 6 how far a dear and 
perfect friendship is authorised by the principles 
of Christianity, the answer is ready and easy : It 
is warranted to extend to all mankind ; and the 
more we love, the better we are; and the greater 
our friendships are, the dearer we are to God. 
Let thsm be as dear, and let them be as perfect, 
and let them be as many as you can ; there is no 
danger in it; only where the restraint begins, 
there begins our imperfection. It is not ill that 
you entertain brave friendships and worthy socie- 
ties: it were well if you could love and if you 
could benefit all mankind ; for I conceive that is 
the sum of all friendship. 

I confess this is not to be expected of us in 
this world ; but, as all our graces here are but 
imperfect, that is, at the best they are but ten- 
dencies to glory, so our friendships are imperfect 
too, and but beginnings of a celestial friendship by 
which we shall love every one as much as they 



80 



SELECTIONS 



can be loved. But then so we must here in our 
proportion ; and indeed that is it that can make 
the difference ; we must be friends to all, that is, 
apt to do good, loving them really, and doing to 
them all the benefits which we can, and which 
they are capable of. The friendship is equal to all 
the world, and of itself hath no difference ; but is 
differenced only by accidents, and by the capacity 
or incapacity of them that receive it. 

For thus the sun is the eye of the world ; and 
he is indifferent to the Negro, or the cold Russian, 
to them that dwell under the line, and them that 
stand near the tropicks, the scalded Indian, or the 
poor boy that shakes at the foot of the Riphean 
hills. But the fluxures of the heaven and the 
earth, the conveniency of abode, and the ap- 
proaches to the north or south respectively change 
the emanations of his beams ; not that they do 
not pass always from him, but that they are not 
equally received below, but by periods and 
changes, by little inlets and reflections, they 
receive what they can. And some have only a 
dark day and a long night from him, snows and 
white cattle, a miserable life, and a perpetual 
harvest of catarrhs and consumptions, apoplexies 
and dead palsies. But some have splendid fires 
and aromatick spices, rich wines and well-di- 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



81 



jested fruits, great wit and great courage ; because 
they dwell in his eye, and look in his face, and are 
the courtiers of the sun, and wait upon him in his 
chambers of the east. Just so is it in friendships; 
some are worthy, and some are necessary; some 
dwell hard by and are fitted for converse ; nature 
joins some to us, and religion combines us with 
others ; society and accidents, parity of fortune, 
and equal dispositions do actuate our friendships : 
which of themselves and in their prime disposition 
are prepared for all mankind according as any 
one can receive them. We see this best exempli- 
fied by two instances and expressions of friend- 
ship and chanty : viz. alms and prayers : every 
one that needs relief is equally the object of our 
charity ; but though to all mankind in equal needs 
we ought to be alike in charity, yet we signify 
this severally and by limits and distinct measures : 
the poor man that is near me, he whom I meet, he 
whom I love, he whom I fancy, he who did me 
benefit, he who relates to my family, he rather 
than another; because my expressions, being 
finite and narrow and cannot extend to all in 
equal significations, must be appropriate to those 
whose circumstances best fit me : and yet even to 
all I give my alms, to all the world that needs 
them : I pray for all mankind, I am grieved at 



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every sad story I hear ; I am troubled when I 
hear of a pretty bride murdered in her bride- 
chamber by an ambitious and enraged rival; T 
shed a tear when I am told that a brave king was 
misunderstood, then slandered, then imprisoned, 
and then put to death by evil men : and I can 
never read the story of the Parisian massacre, or 
the Sicilian vespers, but my blood curdles, and I 
am disordered by two or three affections. A good 
man is a friend to all the world ; and he is not 
truly charitable that does not wish well, and do 
good to all mankind in what he can. But though 
we must pray for all men, yet we say special 
litanies for brave kings and holy prelates, and the 
wise guides of souls, for our brethren and re- 
lations, our wives and children. 

The effect of this consideration is, that the 
universal friendship of which I speak, must be 
limited, because we are so. In those things 
where we stand next to immensity and infinity, as 
in good wishes and prayers, and a readiness to 
benefit all mankind, in these our friendships must 
not be limited ; but in other things which pass un- 
der our hand and eye, our voices and our material 
exchanges ; our hands can reach no further but to 
our arms* end, and our voices can but sound till 
the next air be quiet, and therefore they can have 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



83 



intercourse but within the sphere of their own 
activity ; our needs and our conversations are 
served by a few, and they cannot reach at all ; 
where they can, they must; but where it is im- 
possible, it cannot be necessary.* It must there- 
fore follow, that our friendships to mankind may 
admit variety as does our conversation ; and as by 
nature we are made sociable to all, so we are 
friendly: but as all cannot actually be of our so- 
ciety, so neither can all be admitted to a special, 
actual friendship. Of some intercourses all men 
are capable, but not of all ; men can pray for one 
another, and abstain from doing injuries to all the 
world, and be desirous to do all mankind good, 
and love all men : now this friendship we must 
pay to all, because we can ; but if we can do no 
more to all, we must shew our readiness to do 
more good to all by actually doing more good to 
all them to whom we can. 

A good man is the best friend, and therefore 
soonest to be chosen, longer to be retained ; and 



* The evils arising from attempts to act, without limita- 
tion, upon a system of general benevolence, are admirably ex- 
plained in the Tempest, act 2. scene 1. " Had I plantations 
of this Isle — and in Joseph Andrews, book 3. c. 3. " This 
way of life/' &c 



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SELECTIONS 



indeed never to be parted with, unless he cease to 
be that for which he was chosen. 

For the good man is a profitable, useful per- 
son, and that is the band of an effective friend- 
ship. For I do not think that friendships are me- 
taphysical nothings, created for contemplation, or 
that men or women should stare upon each others 
faces, and make dialogues of news and pretti- 
nesses, and look babies in one another's eves. 
Friendship is the allay of our sorrows, the ease of 
our passions, the discharge of our oppressions, the 
sanctuary to our calamities, the counsellor of our 
doubts, the clarity of our minds, the emission of 
our thoughts, the exercise and improvement of 
what we meditate. And although I love my 
friend because he is worthy, yet he is not worthy 
if he can do me no good : I do not speak of acci- 
dental hindrances and misfortunes by which the 
bravest man may become unable to help his child ; 
but of the natural and artificial capacities of the 
man. He only is fit to be chosen for a friend, who 
can do those offices for which friendship is excel- 
lent. For (mistake not) no man can be loved for 
himself ; our perfections in this world cannot reach 
so high ; it is well if we would love God at that 
rate ; and I very much fear that if God did us no 
good we might admire his beauties, but we should 



1'ROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



85 



have but a small proportion of love towards him ; 
all his other greatnesses are objects of fear 
and wonder, it is his goodness that makes him 
lovely. And so it is in friendships. He only is 
fit to be chosen for a friend who can give counsel, 
or defend my cause, or guide me right, or relieve 
my need, or can and will, when I need it, do me 
good: only this I add, into the heaps of doing 
good, I will reckon loving me, for it is a pleasure 
to be beloved ;* but when his love signifies nothing 
but kissing my cheek, or talking kindly, and can 
go no further, it is a prostitution of the bravery of 
friendship to spend it upon impertinent people who 
are (it may be) loads to their families, but can 
never ease my loads ; but my friend is a worthy 
person when he can become to me instead of God, 
a guide or a support, an eye or a hand, a staff or 
a rule. 



* Sweet is the tear that from some Howard's eye, 
Drops on the cheek of One, he lifts from Earth ; 
And He, that works me good with unmov'd face, 
Does it but half: he chills me while he aids, 
My Benefactor, not my Brother Man ! 
Yet even this, this cold Beneficence 
Seizes my Praise, when I reflect on those, 
The Sluggard Pity's vision-weaving Tribe ! 
Who sigh for Wretchedness, yet shun the Wretched, 
Nursing in some delicious solitude 
Their slothful loves and dainty Sympathies ! 

Coleridge. 



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Can any wise or good man be angry if I say, I 
chose this man to be my friend, because he is able 
to give me counsel, to restrain my wanderings, to 
comfort me in my sorrows ; he is pleasant to me 
in private, and useful in public; be will make my 
joys double, and divide my grief between himself 
and me? For what else should I choose? For 
being a fool, and useless ? for a pretty lace or a 
smooth chin? I confess it is possible to be a friend 
to one that is ignorant, and pitiable, handsome 
and good for nothing, that eats well, and drinks 
deep, but he cannot be a friend to me ; and I love 
him with a fondness or a pity, but it cannot be a 
noble friendship. 

But if you yet enquire, further, whether fancy 
may be an ingredient in your choice ? I answer 
that fancy may minister to this as to all other ac- 
tions in which there is a liberty and variety. And 
we shall find that there may be peculiarities and 
little partialities, a friendship improperly so called, 
entering upon accounts of an innocent passion and 
a pleased fancy ; even our blessed Saviour himself 
loved St. John and Lazarus by a special love, 
which was signified by special treatments ; and of 
the young man that spake well and wisely to 
Christ it is affirmed, Jesus loved him, that is, he 
fancied the man, and his soul had a certain cog- 
nation and similitude of temper and inclination. 
For in all things where there is a latitude, every 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



87 



faculty will endeavour to be pleased, and some- 
times the meanest persons in a house have a fes- 
tival : even sympathies and natural inclinations to 
some persons, and a conformity of humours, and 
proportionable loves, and the beauty of the face? 
and a witty answer may first strike the flint and 
kindle a spark, which if it falls upon tender and 
compliant natures may grow into a flame ; but this 
will never be maintained at the rate of friendship, 
unless it be fed by pure materials, by worthinesses 
which are the food of friendship : where these are 
not, men and women may be pleased with one 
another's company, and lie under the same roof, 
and make themselves companions of equal pros- 
perities, and humour their friend ; but if you call 
this friendship, you give a sacred name to humour 
or fancy ; for there is a Platonic friendship as well 
as a Platonic love ; but they being the images of 
more noble bodies are but like tinsel dressings, 
which will shew bravely by candle light, and do 
excellently in a mask, but are not fit for conver- 
sation and the material intercourses of our life. 
These are the prettinesses of prosperity and good- 
natured wit; but when we speak of friendship, 
which is the best thing in the world (for it is love 
and beneficence, it is charity that is fitted for so- 
ciety), we cannot suppose a brave pile should be 



88 



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built up with nothing ; and they that build castles 
in the air, and look upon friendship as upon a fine 
romance, a thing that pleases the fancy but is 
good for nothing else, will do well when they are 
asleep, or when they are come to Elysium ; and for 
aught I know in the mean time may be as much 
in love with Mandana in the Grand Cyrus, as 
with the Infanta of Spain, or any of the most per- 
fect beauties and real excellencies of the world : 
and by dreaming of perfect and abstracted friend- 
ships, make them so immaterial that they perish 
in the handling and become good for nothing. 

But I know not whither I was going; 1 did 
only mean to say that because friendship is that 
by which the world is most blessed and receives 
most good, it ought to be chosen amongst the 
worthiest persons, that is, amongst those that can 
do greatest benefit to each other. And though in 
equal worthiness I may chose by my eye, or ear, 
that is, into the consideration of the essential, I may 
take in also the accidental and extrinsic worthi- 
nesses; yet I ought to give every one their just 
value: when the internal beauties are equal, these 
shall help to weigh down the scale, and I will love 
a worthy friend that can delight me as well as pro- 
fit me, rather than him who cannot delight me at 
all, and profit me no more: but yet I will not 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



89 



weigh the gayest flowers, or the wings of butter- 
flies, against wheat; but when I am to choose 
wheat, I may take that which looks the brightest. 
I had rather see thyme and roses, marjorum and 
July flowers that are fair and sweet and medicinal, 
than the prettiest tulips that are good for nothing : 
and my sheep and kine are better servants than 
race-horses and grey-hounds. And 1 shall rather 
furnish my study with Plutarch and Cicero, with 
Livy and Polybius, than with Cassandra and Ibra- 
him Bassa; and if I do give an hour to these for 
divertisement or pleasure, yet 1 wili dwell with 
them that can instruct me, and make me wise and 
eloquent, severe and useful to myself and others. 
I end this with the saying of Lselius in Cicero: 
i( Amicitia non debet consequi utilitatem, sed ami- 
citiam utilitas. ,, When I choose my friend, I will 
not stay till I have received a kindness : but I 
will choose such an one that can do me many if I 
need them: but I mean such kindnesses which 
make me wiser, and which make me better: that 
is, I will, when I choose my friend, choose him that 
is the bravest, the worthiest, and the most excel- 
ent person ; and then your first question is soon 
answered. To love such a person, and to contract 
such friendships, is just so authorised by the prin- 
ciples of Christianity, as it is warranted to lov& 



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wisdom and virtue, goodness and beneficence, and 
all the impresses of God upon the spirits of brave 
men. 

He that does a base thing in zeal for his friend, 
burns the golden thread that ties their hearts to- 
gether. 

If friendship be a charity in society, and is not 
for contemplation and noise, but for material com- 
forts and noble treatments and usage?, this is no 
peradventure, but that if I buy land I may eat the 
fruits, and if I take a house I may dwell in it ; and if I 
love a worthy person, I may please myself in his 
society: and in this there is no exception, unless 
the friendship be between persons of a different 
sex ; for then not only the interest of their religion 
and the care of their honour, but the worthiness 
of their friendship requires that their intercourse 
be prudent, and free from suspicion and reproach. 
And if a friend is obliged to bear a calamity, so 
he secure the honour of his friend, it will concern 
him to conduct his intercourse in the lines of a 
virtuous prudence, so that he shall rather lose 
much of his own comfort than she anything of her 
honour ; and in this case the noises of people are 
so to be regarded that, next to innocence, they are 
the principal. But when by caution and prudence, 
and severe conduct, a friend hath done all that he 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



or she can to secure fame and honourable reports, 
after this their noises are to be despised : they 
must not fright us from our friendships, nor from 
her fairest intercourses,*f 



* Polemical Discourses. 

+ I venture to subjoin a few remarks upon, 1st, the advan- 
tages of friendship, — 2dly the duties. 

As to the advantages see Bacon's admirable Essay on 
Friendship, where they are stated to be, — Peace in the affec- 
tions, — Counsel in judgment, — and Assistance when necessary : 
the heart ; the head ; the hand. 

Upon peace in the affections, or the disburthening of grief 
and the communication of joy, see the 2nd vol. of South's 
Sermons, sermon 2, on John, cap. xv. v. 15, in page 71, 
he says — The third privilege of friendship is a sympathy 
in joy and grief. When a man shall have diffused his life, 
his self, and his whole concernments so far, that he can 
weep his sorrows with another's eyes ! when he has ano- 
ther heart besides his own, both to share, and to support his 
griefs, and when, if his joys overflow, he can treasure up the 
overplus and redundancy of them in another breast ; so that he 
can (as it were) shake off the solitude of a single nature, by dwel- 
ling in two bodies at once, and living by another's breath ; this 
surely is the height, the very spirit and perfection of all human 
felicities. "It is a true and happy observation of that great 
philosopher the Lord Verulam, that this is the benefit of 
communication of our mindsto others, that sorrows by being com- 
municated grow less, and joys greater. And indeed, sorrow, 



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ON FEAR. 

Fear is the duty we owe to God, as being the 
God of power and justice, the great judge of hea- 

like a'stream, loses itself in many channels ; and joy, like a 
ray of the sun, reflects with a greater ardour, and quickness, 
when it rebounds upon a man from the breast of his friend." 

XJipon counsel in judgment, see also the same sermon, in which 
he says — " The fifth advantage of friendship is counsel and ad- 
vice. A man will sometimes need not only another heart, 
but also another head besides his own. In solitude there is 
not only discomfort, but weakness also. And that saying of 
the wise man, Eccles.iv. 10. Woe to him that is alone, is verified 
upon none so much, as upon the friendless person : when a man 
shall be perplexed with knots and problems of business and 
contrary affairs ; where the determination is dubious, and 
both parts of the contrariety seem equally weighty, so that 
which way soever the choic:- determines, a man is sure to ven- 
ture a great concern. How happy then is it to fetch in aid 
from another person, whose judgment may be greater than 
my own, and whose concernment is sure not to be less ! There 
are some passages of a man's affairs that would quite break 
a single understanding. So many intricacies, so many laby- 
rinths are there in them, that the succours of reason fail, the 
very force and spirit of it being lost in an actual intention 
scattered upon several clashing objects at once ; in which case 
the interposal of a friend is like the supply of a fresh party to 
a besieged yielding city." In the conclusion of Bacon's Essay ? 
he says, — " After these two noble fruits of friendship, (peace 
in the affections, and support of the judgment), folio weth the 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



93 



Ten and earth, the avenger of the cause of widows, 
the patron of the poor, and the advocate of the 



last fruit, which is like the pomegranate, full of many kernels ; 
I mean, aid and bearing a part in all actions and occasions. 
How many things are there which a man cannot, with any 
face, or comeliness, say or do himself? A man can scarce 
a llege his own merits with modesty," &c. 

As to the duties of friendship, some of them are 

Secrecy, which is the chastity of friendship ; — 

Patience, with infirmity ; — "It endures all things." 

Suspension of judgment; — "It hopes all things." 

Protection of children after his death. 
" Asto Patience :" — " Do not think thou didst contract al- 
liance with an angel, when thou didst take thy friend into 
thy bosom ; he may be weak as well as thou art, and thou 
mayest need pardon as well as he." 

Suspension of judgment : see Souta's sermon, where 
he says, — " It is an imitation of the charities of heaven, 
which when the creature lies prostrate in the weakness 
of sleep, and weariness, spreads the covering night, and 
darkness over it, to conceal it in that condition; but as 
soon as our spirits are refreshed, and nature returns to its 
morning vigour, God then bids the sun rise, and the day 
shine upon us, both to advance and to shew that activity. 
It is the ennobling office of the understanding, to correct 
the fallacious and mistaken reports of sense, and to assure us 
that the staff in the water is straight, though our eye would 
tell us it is crooked. So it is the excellency of friendship to 
rectify, or at least to qualify the malignity of those surmises, 
that would misrepresent a friend, and traduce him in our 



94 



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oppressed, a mighty God and terrible. Fear is 
the great bridle of intemperance, the modesty of 
the spirit, and the restraint of gaieties and disso- 
lutions ; it is the girdle to the soul, and the hand- 
maid to repentance, the arrest of sin; it preserves 
our apprehensions of the Divine Majesty, and 
hinders our single actions from combining to sin- 
ful habits; it is the mother of consideration, and 
the nurse of sober counsels. Fear is the guard of 
a man in the days of prosperity, and it stands 
upon the watch-towers and spies the approaching 
danger, and gives warning to them that laugh loud, 
and feast in the chambers of rejoicing, where a 
man cannot consider by reason of the noises of 



thoughts. Am I told that my friend has done nie an injury, 
or that he has committed any undecent action ? why the first 
debt that I both owe to his friendship, and that he may chal- 
lenge from mine, is rather to question the truth of the report, 
than presently to believe my friend unworthy. A friend will 
be sure to act the part of an advocate, before he will assume 
that of a judge." 

" The last and most sacred duty of friendship is after we have 
stood upon the planks round his grave. When my friend is 
dead I will not turn into his grave and be stifled with his earth : 
but I will mourn for him and perform his will, and take care of 
his relatives, and do for him as if he were alive ; and thus it is 
that friendships never die. J, 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



95 



wine, and jest, and music ; and if Prudence takes 
it by the hand and leads it on to duty, it is a state 
of grace, and an universal instrument to infant-reli- 
gion, and the only security of the less perfect per- 
sons ; and in all senses is that homage we owe to 
God, who sends often to demand it, even then 
when he speaks in thunder, or smites by a plague, 
or awakens us by threaten in gs, or discomposes our 
easiness by sad thoughts, and tender eyes, and 
fearful hearts, and trembling considerations. 

Let the grounds of our actions be noble, be- 
ginning upon reason, proceeding with prudence, 
measured by the common lines of men, and con- 
fident upon the expectation of an usual Provi- 
dence. Let us proceed from causes to effects, 
from natural means to ordinary events, and believe 
felicity not to be a chance but a choice; and evil 
to be the daughter of sin and the divine anger, not 
of fortune and fancy. Let us fear God when we 
have made him angry; and not be afraid of him 
when we heartily and laboriously do our duty; 
and then fear shall be a duty, and a rare instru- 
ment of many: in all other cases, it is supersti- 
tion or folly, it is sin or punishment, the ivy of re- 
ligion, and the misery of an honest and a weak 
heart; and it is to be cured only by reason and 



96 



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good company, a wise guide and a plain rule, a 
cheerful spirit and a contented mind, by jov in 
God according to the commandments, that is, a 
rejoicing evermore. 

The illusions of a weak piety or an unskilful 
confident soul, fancy to see mountains of difficulty, 
but touch them and they seem like clouds riding 
upon the wings of the wind, and put on shapes as 
we please to dream. He that denies to give alms 
for the fear of being poor, or to entertain a disci- 
ple for fear of being suspected of the party : he 
that takes part of the intemperance because he 
dares not displease the company, or in any sense 
fears the fears of the world and not the fear of 
God ; this man enters into his portion of fears be- 
times, but it will not be finished to eternal ages. 
To fear the censures of men when God is your 
judge ; to fear their evil when God is your defence ; 
to fear death when he is the entrance to life and 
felicity, is unreasonable and pernicious. But if you 
will turn your passion into duty, and joy and secu- 
rity, fear to offend God, to enter voluntarily into 
temptation : fear the alluring face of lust, and the 
smooth entertainments of intemperance : fear the 
anger of God wdien you have deserved it ; and 
when you have recovered from the snare, then in- 



TROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



97 



finitely fear to return into that condition, in which 
whosoever dwells is the heir of fear and eternal 
sorrow.* 

IMPATIENCE. 

I have seen the rays of the sun or moon dash 
upon a brazen vessel, whose lips kissed the face 
of those waters that lodged within its bosom ; but 
being turned back and sent off, with its smooth 
pretences or rougher waftings, it wandered about 
the room and beat upon the roof, and still doubled 
its heat and motion. So is sickness and a sor- 
row entertained by an unquiet and discontented 
man. 

Nothing is more unreasonable than to entan- 
gle our spirits in wildness and amazement, like a 
partridge fluttering in a net, which she breaks not 
though she breaks her wings.f 

ON CONTENT. 
Since all the evil in the world consists in the 
disagreeing between the object and the appetite, 

* Sermon on Godly Fear; Serm. ix. part 3. 
f Holy Dying, chap. 3. 

H 



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as when a man hath what he desires not, or desires 
what he hath not, or desires amiss ; he that com- 
poses his spirit to the present accident hath variety 
of instances for his virtue, but none to trouble him, 
because his desires enlarge not beyond his pre- 
sent fortune : and a wise man is placed in the va- 
riety of chances, like the nave or centre of a wheel 
in the midst of all the circumvolutions and changes 
of posture, without violence or change, save that 
it turns gently in compliance with its changed 
parts, and is indifferent which part is up, 
and which is down ; for there is some virtue or 
other to be exercised whatever happens, — either 
patience or thanksgiving, love or fear, moderation 
or humility, charity or contentedness. 

It conduces much to our content, if we pass by 
those things which happen to our trouble, and con- 
sider that which is pleasing and prosperous; that 
by the representation of the better, the worse may 
be blotted out. 

It may be thou art entered into the cloud which 
will bring a gentle shower to refresh thy sorrows* 
I am fallen into the hands of publicans and 
sequestrators, and they have taken all from me : 
what now ? let me look about me. They have 
left me the sun and moon, fire and water, a loving 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



99 



wife, and many friends to pity me, and some to 
relieve me, and I can still discourse ; and, unless 
I list, they have not taken away my merry coun- 
tenance, and my cheerful spirit, and a good con- 
science ; they still have left me the providence of 
God, and all the promises of the gospel, and my 
religion, and my hopes of heaven, and my charity 
to them too : and still I sleep and digest, I eat 
and drink, I read and meditate, I can walk in my 
neighbour's pleasant fields, and see the varieties of 
natural beauties, and delight in all that in which 
God delights, that is, in virtue and wisdom, in the 
whole creation, and in God himself.* 

If thy coarse robe trouble thee, remember 



* Holy Living, ch ii. § 6. 

Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods, 
The sweeping vales, and foaming floods, 

Are free alike to all. Burns. 

I care not Fortune what you me deny, 

You cannot rob me of free nature's grace, 
You cannot shut the windows of the sky, 

Through which Aurora shews her bright'ning face. 
You cannot bar my constant feet to trace, 

The woods and lawns, by living stream at eve ; 
Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, 
And I their toys to the great children leave, 
Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave. 

Thomson, 



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the swaddling-clothes of Jesus: if thy bed be 
uneasy, yet it is not worse than his manger; 
and it is no sadness to have a thin table, if thou 
callest to mind that the king of heaven and 
earth was fed with a little breast-milk : and yet 
besides this he suffered all the sorrows which we 
deserved. 

If God should send a cancer upon thy face, or 
a wolf into thy side, if he should spread a crust of 
leprosy upon thy skin, what wouldst thou give to 
be but as now thou art ? 

LUST. 

Lust is a captivity of the reason, and an en- 
raging of the passions: it wakens every night and 
rages every day ; it desires passionately, and pro- 
secutes violently; it hinders business, and distracts 
counsel; it brings jealousies, and enkindles wars: 
it sins against the body, and weakens the soul ;* 
it denies the temple, and drives the Holy Spirit 
forth.f 



* I waive the quantum of the sin 

The hazard of concealing: 
But och ! it hardens all within 

And petrifies the feeling. Burns. 

f Sermon on the Flesh and the Spirit, Serm. xi. part 2. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



101 



ON SINFUL PLEASURE. 
Look upon pleasures not upon that side that is 
next the sun, or where they look beauteously, that 
is, as they come towards you to be enjoyed, for 
then they paint and smile, and dress themselves 
up in tinsel and glass gems and counterfeit ima- 
gery ; but when thou hast rifled and discomposed 
them with enjoying their false beauties, and that 
they begin to go off, then behold them in their 
nakedness and weariness. See what a sigh and 
sorrow, what naked unhandsome proportions and 
a filthy carcase they discover; and the next time 
they counterfeit, remember what you have already 
discovered, and be no more abused.* 

COVETOUSNESS. 
Cove to us ness swells the principal to no pur- 
pose, and lessons the use to all purposes ; disturb- 
ing the order of nature, and the designs of God ; 
making money not to be the instrument of exchange 
or charity, nor corn to feed himself or the poor, 
nor wool to clothe himself or his brother, nor wine 
to refresh the sadness of the afflicted, nor oil to 
make his own countenance cheerful ; but all these 
to look upon, and to tell over, and to take ac- 



* Holy Living, ch. ii. § I, 



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counts by, and make himself considerable, and 
wondered at by fools, that while he lives he may 
be called rich, and when he dies may be accounted 
miserable. It teaches men to be cruel and crafty, 
industrious and evil, full of care and malice; and, 
after all this, it is for no good to itself, for it dares 
not spend those heaps of treasure which it 
snatched.* 

CHRISTIAN CENSURE. 
It was an exemplar of charity, and reads to us 
a rule for our deportment towards erring' and lapsed 
persons, that we entreat them with meekness and 
pity and fear ; not hastening their shame, nor pro* 
voking their spirit, nor making their remedy des- 
perate by using of them rudely, till there be no 
worse thing for them to fear if they should be dis- 
solved into all licentiousness. For an open shame 
is commonly protested unto when it is remediless, 
and the person either despairs and sinks under 
the burthen, or else grows impudent and tramples 
upon it. But the gentleness of a modest and cha- 
ritable remedy preserves that which is virtue's gir- 



* Holy Living, ch. iv. § 8. See South's sermon on covet- 
ousness, on Luke, chap. xii. verse, 15. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



103 



die — fear and blushing; and the beginning of a 
punishment chides them into the horror of remem- 
brance and guilt, but preserves their meekness and 
modesty, because they, not feeling the worst of 
evils, dare not venture upon the worst of sins.*f 



* Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault, ye which are 
spiritual restore such an one in the spirit of meekness ; con- 
sidering thyself, lest thou also be tempted. 

Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of 
Christ. Gal. chap. vi. 

f Then gently scan your brother man, 

Still gentler sister woman ; 
Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, 

To step aside is human : 
One point must still be greatly dark, 

The moving why they do it : 
And just as lamely can ye mark, 

How far perhaps they rue it. 
Who made the heart, 'tis he alone 

Decidedly can try us, 
He knows each chord — its various tone, 

Each spring — its various bias : 
Then at the balance let's be mute, 

We never can adjust it; 
What's done we partly may compute* 

But know not what's resisted. 

Burns. 



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THE HOSPITAL. 
If you please in charity to visit an hospital 1 , 
which is indeed a map of the whole world, there 
you shall see the effects of Adam's sin, and the 
ruins of human nature ; bodies laid up in heaps? 
like the bones of a destroyed town, hominis pre- 
carii spiritus et male haerentis, men whose souls 
seem to be borrowed, and are kept there by art and 
the force of medicine, whose miseries are so great 
that few people have charity or humanity enough 
to visit them, fewer have the heart to dress them 
and we pity them in civility or with a transient 
prayer : but we do not feel their sorrows by the 
mercies of a religious pity; and therefore we leave 
their sorrows in many degrees unrelieved and on- 
eased. So we contract by our unmercifulness a 
guilt by which ourselves become liable to the 
same calamities. Those many that need pity, and 
those infinities of people that refuse to pity, are 
miserable upon a several charge, but yet they 
almost make up all mankind. Abel's blood had 
a voice, and cried to God; and humanity hath a 
voice, and cries so loud to God that it pierces the 
clouds; and so hath every sorrow and every sick- 
ness.* 



* The thoughtless are averse from an interruption of their 
joy ; reflection turns from wretchedness which it is unable 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



105 



ON HUMILITY. 

The other appendage of her religion, which 
also was a great ornament to all the parts of her 

to relieve. Can we ask gaiety to exchange its light pleasures 
for the gloom of a prison ? the young tree to leave its flowers 
and its sweetness, or the olive its good fruit? Can we 
invite opulence, knowing none but self-created wants, to 
witness the squalid poverty of him who is bereft of fortune 
and disowned by friends. The industrious shun him, f r he 
has no industry: the virtuous stand afar off, for he is con- 
victed of crime : and piety, fulfilling all other christian pre- 
cepts, may forget that he has a brother sick and in prison 
and visit him not. A. M. 

To this general apathy our country affords one glorious 
exception. " Hearing the cry of the miserable," says How- 
ard, " I devoted my time to their relief, and, in order to 
" procure it, I made it my business to collect materials, the 
" authenticity of which could not be doubted. I hope not 
" to be entirely deserted in the conflict : if I am the means 
" of exciting the attention of my countrymen to this impor- 
tant national concern, of alleviating the distress of prison- 
ers : of procuring them cleanly and wholesome abodes: 
u of exterminating the gaol fever ; of introducing a habit of 
" industry ; of restraining the shocking debauchery, and im- 
" morality which prevail in our gaols and other prisons ; if any 
" of these beneficial consequences shall accrue, I shall be 
" happy in the pleasing reflection, that I have not lived with 
" out doing some good to my fellow creatures; and I shall 
" think myself abundantly repaid for all the pains I have 
"taken, the time I have spent, and the hazards I have 
" encountered/' 



106 



SELECTIONS 



life, was a rare modesty and humility of spirit, a 
confident despising and undervaluing of herself. 
For though she had the greatest judgment, and 
the greatest experience of things and persons that 
I ever yet knew in a person of her youth, and sex, 
and circumstances ; yet, as if she knew nothing of 
it, she had the meanest opinion of herself; and like 
a fair taper, when she shined to all the room, yet 
round about her own station she had cast a shadow 
and a cloud, and she shined to every body but 
herself.* 

It is in some circumstances and from some 
persons more secure to conceal visions, and 
those heavenly gifts which create estimations 
among men, than to publish them, which may 
possibly minister to vanity; and those exterior 
graces may do God's work, though no observer 
note them but the person for whose sake they are 
sent : like rain falling in uninhabited valleys, where 
no eye observes showers ; yet the valleys laugh 
and sing to God in their refreshment without a 
witness.f 

All the world, all that we are, and all that 
we have, our bodies and our souls, our actions and 
our sufferings, our conditions at home, our accidents 



* Sermon on the Death of Lady Carbery. 
t Life of Christ. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



107 



abroad, our many sins, and our seldom virtues, are 
as so many arguments to make our souls dwell low 
in the deep valleys of humility.* 

* Holy Living ; chap. 2, § iv. 
Bishop Taylor in his preface to Holy Dying, says — 
"I shall measure the success of my labors, not by popular 
noises, or the^sentences of curious persons, but by the ad- 
vantage which good people may receive. My work here is 
not to please the speculative part of men, but to minister to 
practice, to preach to the weary, to comfort the sick, to assist 
the penitent, to reprove the confident, to strengthen weak 
hands and feeble knees, having scarce any other possibilities 
left me of doing alms, or exercising that charity by which we 
shall be judged at doom's-day. It is enough for me to be an 
under-builder in the house of God, and I glory in the employ- 
ment. I labour in the foundations ; and therefore the work 
needs no apology for being plain, so it be strong and well 
laid." And to the same effect Locke in his Epistle to the 
Reader prefixed to his Essay on the Understanding, says — 
" The commonwealth of learning is not at this time without 
master-builders, whose mighty designs, in advancing the 
sciences, will leave lasting monuments to the admiration of 
posterity. But every one must not hope to be a Boyle, or a 
Sydenham ; and in an age that produces such masters, as 
the great Huygenius, and the incomparable Mr. Newton, 
with some others of that strain; 'tis ambition enough to be 
employed as an under-labourer in clearing ground a little, 
and removing some of the rubbish that lies in the way to 
knowledge." And to the same effect Dr. Rawley speaking 
of Lord Bacon in the preface to the Sylva Sylvarum, says — 
"I have heard his Lordship speak complainingly ; that his 
Lordship (who thinketh he deserveth to be an architect in this 



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ON CONVERSATION. 

FROM SERMON* ENTITLED < THE GOOD AND 
EVIL TONGUE.' 

The following is an Analysis of the Sermon. 

I. Geneial Observations. 

II. The Vices of Conversation. 



1. Talking foolishly. 
1. Talking too / 2- Scurrility. 

mnrli \ 3 ' Reeling secrets. 

4. Common swearing. 

5. Contentious wrangling. 



2. Slander. 
V S. Flattery. 

III. The virtues of Conversation. 

1. Instruction. ' < 

2. Comfort. 

3. Reproof. 

GENERAL OBSERVATIONS. 

By the use of the tongue, God hath distin- 
guished us from beasts, and by the well or ill 

building), should be forced to be a workman and a labourer ; 
and to dig the clay and burn the brick ; and more than that 
(according to the hard condition of the Israelites at the lat- 
ter end) to gather the straw and stubble, over all the fields, 
to burn the bricks withal. For he knoweth that unless he do 
it nothing will be done ; men are so set to despise the means 
of their own good." 

* Sermon xxii. p. 161. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



109 



using it we are distinguished from one another ; 
and therefore though silence be innocent as death, 
harmless as a rose's breath to a distant passenger, 
yet it is rather the state of death than life. By 
voices and homilies, by questions and answers, by 
narratives and invectives, by counsel and reproof, 
by praises and hymns, by prayers and glorifications, 
we serve God's glory, and the necessities of men ; 
and by the tongue our tables are made to differ 
from mangers, our cities from deserts, our churches 
from herds of beasts, and flocks of sheep. 

TALKING TOO MUCH. 

I have heard that all the noises and prating of 
the pool, the croaking of frogs and toads, is hushed 
and appeased upon the instant of bringing upon 
them the light of a candle or torch. Every beam 
of reason and ray of knowledge checks the disso- 
lutions of the tongue. But, ut quisque contempt- 
issimus et maxima ludihrio est, ita solutissimce lin- 
gua est, said Seneca: Every man as he is a fool 
and contemptible, so his tongue is hanged loose, 
being like a bell, in which there is nothing but 
tongue and noise. 

TALKING FOOLISHLY. 

No prudence is a sufficient guard, or can al- 
ways stand in excubiis still watching, when a man 



110 



SELECTIONS 



is in perpetual floods of talk ; for prudence attends 
after the manner of an angel's ministry ; it is dis- 
patched on messages from God, and drives away 
enemies, and places guards, and calls upon the 
man to awake, and bids him send out spies and 
observers, and then goes about his own ministries 
above : but an angel does not sit by a man, as a 
nurse by the baby's cradle, watching every motion 
and the lighting of a fly upon the child's lip : and 
so is prudence ; it gives rules, and proportions out 
our measures, and prescribes us cautions, and by 
general influences, orders our particulars : but he 
that is given to talk cannot be secured by all this; 
the emissions of his tongue are beyond the gene- 
ral figures and lines of rule ; and he can no more 
be wise in every period of a long and running talk, 
than a lutenist can deliberate and make every mo- 
tion of his hand by the division of his notes, to be 
chosen and distinctly voluntary. 

SCURRILITY, OR FOOLISH JESTING. 

Plaisance, and joy, and a lively spirit, and a 
pleasant conversation, and the innocent caresses 
of a charitable humanity, is not forbidden; plenum 
tamen suavitatis et gratia sermonem non esse inde- 
corum, saint Ambrose affirmed : and here in my 
text our conversation is commanded to be such, 
hex, So> %apiv, that it may minister grace, that is, fa- 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



Ill 



vour, complacence, cheerfulness; and be accep- 
table and pleasant to the hearer : and so must be 
our conversation ; it must be as far from sullen- 
ness, as it ought to be from lightness, and a cheer- 
full spirit is the best convoy for religion ; and 
though sadness does in some cases become a chris- 
tian, as being an index of a pious mind, of com- 
passion, and a wise proper resentment of things, 
yet it serves but one end, being useful in the only 
instance of repentance ; and hath done its greatest 
works, not when it weeps and sighs, but when it 
hates and grows careful against sin. But cheer- 
fulness and a festival spirit fills the soul full of 
harmony, it composes music for churches and 
hearts, it makes and publishes glorifications of 
God, it produces thankfulness and serves the end 
of charity; and when the oil of gladness runs 
over, it makes bright and tali emissions of light 
and holy fires, reaching up to a cloud, and making 
joy round about : and therefore, since it is so in- 
nocent, and may be so pious and full of holy ad- 
vantage, whatsoever can innocently minister to 
this holy joy does set forward the work of religion 
and charity. And indeed charity itself, which is 
the vertical top of all religion, is nothing else but 
an union of joys, concentrated in the heart, and 
reflected from ail the angles of our life and inter- 



112 



SELECTIONS 



course. It is a rejoicing in God, a gladness in our 
neighbour's good, a pleasure in doing good, a 
rejoicing with him ; and without love we cannot 
have any joy at all. It is this that makes children 
to be a pleasure, and friendship to be so noble and 
divine a thing : and upon this account it is certain 
that all that which innocently make a man cheer- 
ful, does also make him charitable ; for grief, and 
age, and sickness, and weariness, these are pee- 
vish and troublesome ; but mirth and cheerfulness 
is content, and civil, and compliant, and commu- 
nicative, and loves to do good, and swells up to 
felicity only upon the wings of charity. Upon this 
account here is pleasure enough for a christian at 
present, and if a facete discourse, and an amicable 
friendly mirth can refresh the spirit, and take it 
off from the vile temptation of peevish, despairing, 
uncomplying, melancholy, it must needs be inno- 
cent, and commendable. And we may as well be 
refreshed by a clean and a brisk discourse, as by 
the air of Campanian wines ; and our faces and 
our heads may as well be anointed and look plea- 
sant with wit and friendly intercourse, as with the 
fat of the balsam-tree ; and such a conversation 
no wise man ever did, or ought to reprove. But 
when the jest hath teeth and nails, biting or 
scratching our brother, when it is loose and 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



113 



wanton, when it is unseasonable, and much or 
many, when it serves ill purposes, or spends better 
time, then it is the drunkenness of the soul, and 
makes the spirit fly away, seeking for a temple 
where the mirth and the music is solemn and 
religious. 

OF SLANDER. 

This crime is a conjugation of evils, and is pro- 
ductive of infinite mischiefs : it undermines peace, 
and saps the foundation of friendship ; it destroys 
families, and rends in pieces the very heart and 
vital parts of charity : it makes an evil man, party, 
and witness, and judge, and executioner of the 
innocent. 

OF FLATTERY. 

He that persuades an ugly deformed man, that 
he is handsome, a short man that he is tall, a bald 
man that he hath a good head of hair, makes him 
to become ridiculous and a fool, but does no other 
mischief. But he that persuades his friend that is 
a goat in his manners, that he is a holy and a chaste 
person, or that his looseness is a sign of a quick 
spirit, or that it is not dangerous but easily par- 
donable, a trick of youth, a habit that old age will 

lay aside as a man pares his nails,— -this man hath 

i 



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given great advantage to his friend's mischief; he 
hath made it grow in all the dimensions of the sin, 
till it grows intolerable, and perhaps unpardonable. 
And let it be considered, what a fearful destruction 
and contradiction of friendship or service it is, so 
to love myself and my little interest, as to prefer it 
before the soul of him whom I ought to love. 

OF COMFORTING THE DISCONSOLATE. 

Certain it is, that as nothing can better do it, 
so there is nothing greater, for which God made 
our tongues, next to reciting his praises, than to 
minister comfort to a weary soul. And what 
greater measure can we have, than that we should 
bring joy to our brother, who with his dreary eyes 
looks to heaven and round about, and cannot find 
so much rest as to lay his eyelids close together, 
than that thy tongue should be tuned with heavenly 
accents, and make the weary soul to listen for light 
and ease, and when he perceives that there is such 
a thing in the world, and in the order of things, as 
comfort and joy, to begin to break out from the 
prison of his sorrows at the door of sighs and tears, 
and by little and little melt into showers and re- 
freshment ? This is glory to thy voice, and em- 
ployment fit for the brightest angel. But so have 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



115 



I seen the sun kiss the frozen earth, which was 
bound up with the images of death, and the colder 
breath of the north ; and then the waters break 
from their enclosures, and melt with joy, and run 
in useful channels ; and the flies do rise again from 
their little graves in walls, and dance awhile in the 
air, to tell that there is joy within, and that the 
great mother of creatures will open the stock of 
her new refreshment, become useful to mankind, 
and sing praises to her redeemer : so is the heart 
of a sorrowful man under the discourses of a wise 
comforter, he breaks from the despairs of the grave, 
and the fetters and chains of sorrow, he blesses God, 
and he blesses thee, and he feels his life returning ; 
for to be miserable is death, but nothing is life but 
to be comforted ; and God is pleased with no 
music from below so much as in the thanksgiving 
songs of relieved widows, of supported orphans, 
of rejoicing and comforted and thankful persons. 

THE PROGRESS OF RELIGIOUS SENTIMENT. 

The canes of Egypt, when they newly arise 
from their bed of mud and slime of Nilus, start up 
into an equal and continual length, and are inter- 
rupted but with few knots, and are strong and 
beauteous with great distances and intervals : but 
when they are grown to their full length, they les- 



116 



SELECTIONS 



sen into the point of a pyramis, and multiply their 
knots and joints, interrupting the fineness and 
smoothness of its body. So are the steps and de- 
clensions of him that does not grow in grace : at 
first, when he springs up from his impurity by the 
waters of baptism and repentance, he grows straight 
and strong, and suffers but few interruptions of 
piety, and his constant courses of religion are but 
rarely intermitted, till they ascend up to a full age, 
or towards the ends of their life ; then they are 
weak, and their devotions often intermitted, and 
their breaches are frequent, and they seek excuses, 
and labour for dispensations, and love God and reli- 
gion less and less, till their old age, instead of a 
crown of their virtue and perseverance, ends in le- 
vity and unprofitable courses ; light and useless as 
the tufted feathers upon the cane, every wind can play 
with it and abuse it, but no man can make it use- 
ful. When therefore our piety interrupts its greater 
and more solemn expressions, and upon the return 
of the greater offices and bigger solemnities we 
find them to come upon our spirits like the wave of 
a tide, which retired only because it was natural so 
to do, and yet came farther upon the strand at the 
next rolling; when every new confession, every 
succeeding communion, every time of separation 
far more solemn and intense prayer is better spent 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 117 



and more affectionate, leaving a greater relish upon 
the spirit, and possessing greater portions of our 
affections, our reason and our choice ; then we 
may give God thanks, who hath given us more 
grace to use that grace, and a blessing to endea- 
vour our duty, and a blessing upon our endeavour.* 
Every man hath his indiscretions and infirmities, 
his arrests and sudden incursions, his neighbour- 
hoods and semblances of sin, his little violences to 
reason, and peevish melancholy, and humorous fan- 
tastic discourses ; unaptness to a devout prayer, his 
fondness to judge favourably in his own cases, little 
deceptions, and voluntary and involuntary cozen- 
ages, ignorances and inadvertences, careless hours, 
and unwatchful seasons. This happens more fre- 
quently in persons of an infant-piety, when the vir- 
tue is not corroborated by a long abode, and a con. 
firmed resolution, and an usual victory, and a 
triumphant grace; and the longer we are accustomed 
to piety, the more unfrequent will be the little 
breaches of folly, and a returning to sin. But as the 
needle of a compass, when it is directed to its beloved 
star, at the first addresses waves on either side, 
and seems indifferent in his courtship of the rising 
or declining sun, and when it seems first deter- 



* Of Growth ip Grace ; serm. xiv. p. 305' 



118 



SELECTIONS 



mined to the north, stands awhile trembling, as if 
it suffered inconvenience in the first fruition of its 
desires, and stands not still in full enjoyment till 
after first a great variety of motion, and then an 
undisturbed posture ; so is the piety, and so is the 
conversion of a man, wrought by degrees and 
several steps of imperfection; and at first our 
choices are wavering, convinced by the grace of 
God, and yet not persuaded ; and then persuaded, 
but not resolved ; and then resolved, but deferring 
to begin ; and then beginning, but, as all begin- 
nings are, in weakness and uncertainty ; and we 
fly out often into huge indiscretions, and look back 
to Sodom and long to return to Egypt : and when 
the storm is quite over, we find little bubblings and 
uneavennesses upon the face of the waters, we 
often weaken our own purposes by the returns of 
sin ; and we do not call ourselves conquerors, till 
by the long possession of virtues it is a strange and 
unusual, and therefore an uneasy and unpleasant 
thing, to act a crime.* 

AMBITION. 

I have read of a fair young German gentleman, 
who living, often refused to be pictured, but put off 
the importunity of his friends' desire by giving way 

* Of Growth of Sin ; part ii. serm. xvii. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



119 



that after a few days' burial, they might send a 
painter to his vault, and, if they saw cause for it, 
draw the image of his death unto the life. They 
did so, and found his face half eaten, and his mid- 
riff and back bone full of serpents; and so he 
stands pictured among his armed ancestors. So 
does the fairest beauty change, and it will be as 
bad with you and me ; and then, what servants 
shall we have to wait upon us in the grave ? what 
friends to visit us ? what officious people to cleanse 
away the moist and unwholesome cloud reflected 
upon our faces from the sides of the weeping vaults, 
which are the longest weepers for our funeral. 

St. Austin with his mother Monica was led one 
day by a Roman Prcetor to see the tomb of Csesar. 
Himself thus describes the corpse, " It looked of a 
blue mould, the bone of the nose laid bare, the 
flesh of the nether lip quite fallen off, his mouth 
full of worms, and in his eye pit a hungry toad 
feasting upon the remanent portion of flesh and 
moisture : and so he dwelt in his house of dark- 
ness."* 

* See Tucker's Light of Nature, vol. v. chap. 9, where there 
is an interesting enquiry upon the distinction between the 
love of excelling and the love of excellence : where, with 
his usual ingenuity, he examines the question. 

" Nevertheless it will probably be asked, would I then 
extinguish every spark of vanity in the world 1 every thirst 
of fame, of splendor, of magnificence, of show! every desire 



1<20 



SELECTIONS 



Virtue hath not half so much trouble in it, it 
sleeps quietly without startings and affrighting 

of excelling or distinguishing one's self above the common 
herd \ what must become of the public services, of sciences, 
arts, commerce, manufactures 1 the business of life must 
stagnate. Nobody would spend his youth in fatigues and 
dangers to qualify himself for a general or an admiral. No- 
body would study, and toil, and struggle, and roar out liberty 
to be a minister." 

If Tucker is right, and he generally is right, in his opi- 
nions, the love of excelling, although the common motive 
of action does not influence the noblest minds ; is only a 
temporary motive, and generates bad passion : but the love 
of excellence is a powerful motive : is a permanent motive, 
and generates good feeling ; is always ready to forward those 
abilities which overpower its own If Tucker's reasoning is 
not satisfactory, let him consider the words of Lord Bacon* 

" We enter into a desire of knowledge sometimes from 
a natural curiosity and inquisitive appetite ; sometimes to 
entertain our minds with variety and delight ; sometimes 
for ornament und reputation ; sometimes to enable us to vic- 
tory of wit and contradiction, and most times for lucre and 
profession ; and seldom sincerely to give a true account of 
our gift of reason, for the benefit and use of man ; — as if 
there were sought in knowledge a couch whereupon to rest 
a searching and restless spirit ; or a terrace for a wandering 
and variable mind to walk up and down, with a fair pros- 
pect ) or a tower of state for a proud mind to raise itself 
upon; or a fort or commanding ground for strife and con- 
tention ; or a shop for profit or sale ; and not a rich store 
house for the glory -of the Creator and the relief of man's 
estate." 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



121 



fancies, it looks cheerfully, smiles with much sere- 
nity, and though it laughs not often, yet it is ever 

" For our undertaking, we judge it of such a nature, that 
it were highly unworthy to pollute it with any degree of am- 
bition or affectation ; as it is an unavoidable decree with us 
ever to retain our native candour and simplicity, and not at- 
tempt a passage to truth under the conduct of vanity ; for 
seeking real nature with all her fruits about her, we should 
think it a betraying of our trust to infect such a subject either 
with an ambitious, or ignorant, or any other faulty manner 
of treating it." See Sidney Smith's sermon, vol. ii. page 
129, on Vanity. 

In Whitaker's History of Craven, when examining the 
tombs in the church of Skipton, he says — " Here lies, the 
body of George Clifford third Earl of Cumberland of that 
family, and knight of the most noble order of the garter, who, 
by right of inheritance from a long continued descent of an- 
cestors, was Lord Veteripont, Baron Clifford, Westmorland, 
and Vesey, Lord of the Honour of Skipton in Craven, and 
Hereditary High Shirieve of Westmorland, and was the last 
heir male of the Cliffords that rightfully enjoyed those an- 
cient lands of inheritance in Westmoreland and in Craven, 
with the baronies and honours appertaining to them ; and 
lefte but one legitimate child behinde him, his daughter and 
sole heir, the lady Ann Clifford, now Countesse Dowager 
of Pembroke, Dorset, and Montgomerie, who in memory of 
her father, erected this monument in 1653." 

The present church of Skipton is a spacious and respect- 
able building, though of very different periods. Perhaps no 
part of the original structure now remains ; but from stone 
seats, with pointed arches and cylindrical columns, now in 



122 SELECTIONS 

delightful in the apprehensions of some faculty : 
it fears no man, nor no thing, nor is it discom- 

the south wall of the nave, may perhaps be referred to the 
earlier part of the thirteenth century. Beneath the altar un- 
usually elevated on that account, is the vault of the Cliffords, 
the place of their interment from the dissolution of Bolton 
Priory to the death of the last Earl of Cumberland ; which, 
after having been closed many years, I obtained permission 
to examine, March 29, 1803 ; the original vault, intended 
only for the first Earl and his second lady, had undergone 
two enlargements; and the bodies having been deposited in 
chronological order, first, and immediately under his tomb, lay 
Henry the first earl ; whose lead coffin was much corroded, 
and exhibited the skeleton of a short and very stout man, 
with a long head of flaxen hair, gathered in a knot behind 
the scull. The coffin had been closely fitted to the body, 
and proved him to have been very corpulent as well as mus- 
cular. Next lay the remains of Margaret Percy, his second 
Countess, whcse coffin was still entire. She must have been 
a slender and diminutive woman. The third was ' the lady 
Eleanor's grave,' whose coffin was decayed, and exhibited 
the skeleton (as might be expected in a daughter of Charles 
Brandon and a sister of Henry the Vlllth) of a tall and large 
limbed female. At her right hand was Henry the second 
earl, a very tall and rather slender man, whose thin envelope 
of lead really resembled a winding sheet, and folded like 
coarse drapery, over the limbs. The head was beaten to the 
left side ; something of the shape of the face might be distin- 
guished, and a long prominent nose was very conspicuous. 
Next lay Francis, Lord Clifford, a boy. At his right hand 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



123 



posed, and hath no concernments in the great al- 
terations of the world, and entertains death like a 



was his father George the third earl, whose lead coffin pre- 
cisely resembled the outer case of an Egyptian mummy, 
with a rude face, and something female mammae cast upon 
it 5 as were also the letters G. C. 1605. The body was 
closely wrapped in ten folds of coarse cere cloth, which being 
removed exhibited the face so entire (only turned to cop- 
per colour) as plainly to resemble his portraits. All his 
painters however, had complaisance to omit three large 
warts upon the left cheek. The coffin of earl Francis, who 
lay next to his brother, was of the modern shape, and alone 
had an outer shell of wood, which was covered with leather ; 
the soldering had decayed, and nothing appeared but the 
ordinary skeleton of a tall man. This earl had never been 
embalmed. Over him lay another coffin, much decayed, 
which, I suspect, had contained the lady Anne Dacre his 
mother. Last, lay Henry the fifth earl, in a coffin of the 
same form with that of his father. Lead not allowing of 
absorption, or a narrow vault of much evaporation, a good 
deal of moisture remained in the coffin, and some hair about 
the skull. Both these coffins had been cut open. Room might 
have been found for another slender lady ; but the countess 
of Pembroke chose to be buried at Appleby ; partly, per- 
haps, because her beloved mother was interred there, and 
partly that she might not mingle her ashes with rivals and 
enemies. 

It is curious to contrast with these humiliating relics of 
departed greatness, the pomp and heraldry, and the pride 
of genealogy, which are displayed above. 



124 



SELECTIONS 



friend, and reckons the issues of it as the greatest 
of its hopes; but ambition is full of distractions, 
it teems with stratagems, as Rebecca with strug- 
gling twins, and is swelled with expectation as with 
a tympany, and sleeps sometimes as the wind in a 
s torm, still and quiet for a minute, that it may 
burst out into an impetuous blast till the cordage 
of his heart-strings crack ; fears when none is nigh, 
and prevents things which never had intention, and 
falls under the inevitability of such accidents which 
either could not be foreseen, or not prevented. 



ON GOVERNMENT AND REVOLUTIONS. 
During the civil wars in this country, Bishop Tay- 
lor retired into Wales. His dedication to his 
work on the Liberty of Prophesying, in his Pole- 
mical Discourses, begins as follows: — 

In this great storm, which hath dashed the 
vessel of the church all in pieces, I have been cast 
upon the coast of Wales, and in a little boat thought 
to have enjoyed that rest and quietness which in 
England in a greater I could not hope for. Here 
I cast anchor, and thinking to ride safely, the 
storm followed me with so much impetuous vio- 
lence, that it broke a cable, and I lost my anchor ; 
and here again I was exposed to the mercy of the 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



125 



sea, and the gentleness of an element that could 
neither distinguish things nor persons.* And but 
that he who stilleth the raging of the sea, and the 



* The following extract is from an extremely interesting 
volume entitled " Peace and Contentment of Mind," by 
Peter Du Moulin, D. D. Canon of Christ's Church, Canter- 
bury, one of his majesty's chaplains. 

" Some years ago being cast by the storm upon a remote 
coast, and judging that it would have been to no purpose for 
me to quarrel with the tempest, I sat upon the shore to be- 
hold it calmly ; taking no other interest in it, but that of my 
sympathy with those friends whom I saw yet beaten by the 
wind and the waves, And to that calmness my condition 
contributed very much, because former tempests had left me 
little occasion to be much concerned in the present agitation, 
or to fear much those which might come after. 

" There I found myself invited to husband that uncertain 
interval of unexpected rest, to meditate by what means I 
might possess every where, and in the very storm, the peace 
and contentment of my mind; and to try whether I could be so 
happy while I got peace for myself, to procure it unto others. 

" For that contemplation I made use of four books, the half 
wild country where I found myself affording but few more. 
The first and chief was the Holy Scripture, the meditation 
whereof brings that peace which passeth all understanding. 
My second book was the great volume of Nature. The third 
was the lessons of Divine Providence. The fourth that which 
every one carrieth along with himself, and that is man." 
* Sermon xv. and xvi. 



126 



SELECTIONS 



noise of his waves, and the madness of his peo- 
ple, had provided a plank for me, I had been lost 
to all the opportunities of content or study. But 
I know not whether I have been more preserved 
by the courtesies of my friends, or the gentleness 
and mercies of a noble enemy. 'Ot yap [Baptxpoi 
&ap€t%w ov rvjv vvfl&rcw tfuXavOpuKtav itfuv, aaKstyaarzs$ 
yap Trvpav vpotreXatiOVTQ Travraq yfAca; Sia, to> verov tov 

€(p€<7Tccrcc wou oicc to ^x ^ And now since I have 
come ashore, I have been gathering a few sticks to 
warm me, a few books to entertain my thoughts, 
and divert them from the perpetual meditation 
of my private troubles, and the public dyscrasy ; 
but those which I could obtain were so few and so 
impertinent, and unuseful to any great purposes, 
that I began to be sad upon a new stock, and full 
of apprehension that I should live unprofitably, and 
die obscurely and be forgotten, and my bones 
thrown into some common charnel-house, without 
any name or note to distinguish me from those 
who only served their generation by filling the num- 
ber of citizens, and who could pretend to no thanks 
or rewards from the public beyond " jus trium libe- 
rorum." While I was troubled with these thoughts, 
and busy to find an opportunity of doing some 
good in my small proportion, still the cares of the 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



127 



public did so intervene, that it was as impossible to 
separate my design from relating to the present, as 
to exempt myself from the participation of the 
common calamity ; still half my thoughts was (in 
despite of all my diversions and arts of avocation) 
fixed upon and mingled with the present concern- 
ments ; so that besides them I could not go. 

In another part of his Polemical Discourses, he 
says :— 

We have not only felt the evils of an intestine 
war, but God hath smitten us in our spirit. But 
I delight not to observe the correspondencies of 
such sad accidents, which, as they may happen 
upon divers causes, or may be forced violently by 
the strength of fancy, or driven on by jealousy, 
and the too fond opinings of troubled hearts and 
afflicted spirits, so they do but help to vexthe of- 
fending part, and relieve the afflicted but with a 
fantastic and groundless comfort ; I will therefore 
deny leave to my own affections to ease themselves 
by complaining of others ; I shall only crave 
leave that I may remember Jerusalem, and call to 
mind the pleasures of the temple, the order of her 
services, the beauty of her buildings, the sweetness 
of her songs, the decency of her ministrations, the 
assiduity and economy of her priests and Levites, 



128 SELECTIONS 

the daily sacrifice, and that eternal fire of devo- 
tion that went not out by day nor by night ; these 
were the pleasures of our peace ; and there is a 
remanent felicity in the very memory of those spi- 
ritual delights which we then enjoyed as antepasts 
of heaven, and consignations to an immortality of 
joys. And it may be so again when it shall please 
God, who hath the hearts of all princes in his hand, 
and turneth them as the rivers of waters; and 
when men will consider the invaluable loss that 
is consequent, and the danger of sin that is appen- 
dant, to the destroying such forms of discipline 
and devotion in which God was purely worshipped, 
and the church was edified, and the people in- 
structed to great degrees of piety, knowledge, and 
devotion.* 

ON THE SAME SUBJECT, 

FROM BACON. 

In Orpheus's theatre all beasts and birds as- 
sembled, and, forgetting their several appetites, 
some of prey, some of game, some of quarrel, stood 
all sociably together, listening unto the airs and 
accords of the harp ; the sound whereof no sooner 
ceased, or was drowned by some louder noise, but 



* Polemical Discourses. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



129 



every beast returned to his own nature : wherein 
is aptly described the nature and condition of men, 
who are full of savage and unreclaimed desires of 
profit, of lust, of revenge ; which as long as they 
give ear to precepts, to laws, to religion, sweetly 
touched with eloquence and persuasion of books , 
of sermons, of harangues, so long is society and 
peace maintained ; but if these instruments be si- 
lent, or sedition and tumult make them not audi- 
ble, all things dissolve into anarchy and confusion.* 
We see it ever falleth out that the forbidden 
writing is always thought to be certain sparks of 
truth, that fly up into the faces of those that seek 
to choke it, and tread it out ; whereas a book au- 
thorised is thought to be but " temporis voces," the 
language of the time. f 

ON THE SAME SUBJECT, 

FROM HOOKER. 

He that goeth about to persuade a multitude 
that they are not so well governed as they ought 
to be, shall never want attentive and favourable 
hearers ; because they know the manifold defects 
whereunto every kind of regiment is subject. But 
the secret lets and difficulties, which in public pro- 

* Advancement of Learning, book i. 
f Of Church Controversies. 

IC 



130 



SELECTIONS 



ceedings are innumerable and inevitable, they have 
not ordinarily the judgment to consider. And 
because such as openly reprove supposed disorders 
of state, are taken for principal friends to the com- 
mon benefit of all, and for men that carry singu- 
lar freedom of mind ; under this fair and plausible 
colour, whatsoever they utter passeth for ^ood and 
current. That which wanteth in the weight of 
their speech, is supplied by the aptness of men's 
minds to accept and believe it. Whereas, on the other 
side, if we maintain things that are established, we 
have not only to strive with a number of heavy 
prejudices deeply rooted in the hearts of men, 
who think that herein we serve the time and speak 
in favour of the present state, because thereby we 
either hold or seek preferment; but also to bear 
such exceptions, as minds so averted before-hand 
usually take against that which they are loth should 
be poured into them.* 

The stateliness of houses, the goodliness of 
trees, when we behold them, delighteth the eye : 
but that foundation which beareth up the one, that 
root which ministereth unto the other nourishment 
and life, is in the bosom of the earth concealed : 
and if there be occasion at any time to search into 
it, such labor is then more necessaiy than pleasant, 
both to them which undertake it, and for the lookers 



Ecclesiastical Polity, book i. sect. 1. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



131 



on. In like manner the use and benefit of good 
laws, all that live under them may enjoy with de- 
light and comfort, albeit the grounds and first ori- 
ginal causes from whence they have sprung, be 
unknown, as to the greatest part of men they are. 

Since the time that God did first proclaim the 
edicts of his law upon the world, heaven and earth 
have harkened unto his voice, and their labour hath 
been to do his will. " He made a law for the 
rain he gave his " decree unto the sea, that the 
waters should not pass his commandment." Now, 
if nature should intermit her course, and leave alto- 
gether, though it were for awhile, the observation 
of her own laws, if those principal and mother 
elements of the world, whereof all things in this 
lower world are made, should lose the qualities 
which now they have; if the frame of that hea- 
venly arch erected over our heads, should loosen 
and dissolve itself ; if celestial spheres should for- 
get their wonted motions, and by irregular volubi- 
lity turn themselves any way as it may happen ; if 
the prince of the lights of heaven, which now, as a 
giant, doth run his unwearied course, should as it 
were, through a languishing faintness, begin to 
stand, and to rest himself ; if the moon should wan- 
der from her beaten way, the times and seasons 
of the year blend themselves by disordered and 



* Ibid. 



132 



SELECTION? 



confused mixture, the winds breathe out their last 
gasp, the clouds yield no rain, the earth be de- 
feated of heavenly influence, the fruits Gf the earth 
pine away, as children at the withered breasts of 
their mother no longer able to yield them relief; 
what would become of man himself, whom these 
things do now all serve ? See we not plainly, that 
obedience of creatures unto the law of nature is the 
stay of the whole world ?* 

Of Law there can be no less acknowledged 
than that her seat is in the bosom of God ; her 
voice the harmony of the world ; all things in hea- 
ven and earth do her homage ; the very least as 
feeling her care, and the greatest as not exempted 
from her power. Both angels and men, and crea- 
tures of what condition soever, though each in dif- 
ferent sort and manner, yet all with uniform con- 
sent, admiring her as the mother of their peace 
and joy.f 

ON TEMPERANCE. 

r ROM SERMON £ ENTITLED ' THE HOUSE OF 
FEASTING." 

' Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.' 
1 Cor. xv. 32. 

1 . Plenty, and the pleasures of che world, are no 
proper instruments of felicity. 

* Ecclesiastical Polity, book i. sect. 3. 
t Ibid book i. sect. 16. X Sermon xv. and xvi. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



133 



2. Intemperance is a certain enemy to felicity. 
1 st. It is an enemy to health. 

2ndly. Intemperance is an impure fountain of 
vice, and a direct nurse of uncleanness. 

3rdly. Intemperance is a destruction of wis- 
dom. 

4thly. Intemperance is a dishonour and dis- 
reputation to the person and the nature of 
the man. 

3. The rules and measures of temperance. 

PLENTY, AND THE PLEASURES OF THE WORLD, 
ARE NO PROPER INSTRUMENTS OF FELI- 
CITY. 

He that cannot be satisfied with common pro- 
vision, hath a bigger need than he that can ; it is 
harder, and more contingent, and more difficult, 
and more troublesome, for him to be satisfied. 
Epicurus said, 6 1 feed sweetly upon bread and water, 
those sweet and easy provisions of the body, and 
I defy the pleasures of costly provisions.' And 
the man was so confident that he had the advan- 
tage over wealthy tables, that he thought himself 
happy as the immortal gods ; for these provisions 
are easy, they are to be gotten without amazing 
cares. No man needs to flatter, if he can live as 
nature did intend ; " magna pars libertatis est bene 
moratus venter." He need not swell his accounts, 
and intricate his spirit with arts of subtilty and 



134 



SELECTIONS 



contrivance ; he can be free from fears, and the 
chances of the world cannot concern him 

All our trouble is from within us ; and if a dish 
of lettuce and a clear fountain can cool all my 
heats, so that I shall have neither thirst nor pride, 
lust nor revenge, envy nor ambition, I am lodged 
in the bosom of felicity. 

INTEMPERANCE IS AN ENEMY TO HEALTH, 

Health is the opportunity of wisdom, the fair- 
est scene of religion, the advantages of the glorifi- 
cations of God, the charitable ministeries to men ; 
it is a state of joy and thanksgiving, and in every 
of its periods feels a pleasure from the blessed ema- 
nations of a merciful providence. The world does 
not minister, does not feel a greater pleasure than 
to be newly delivered from the racks of the gratings 
of the stone, and the torments and convulsions o^ 
a sharp cholic ; and no organs, no harp, no lute, 
can sound out the praises of the Almighty Father 
so sprightfully as the man that rises from his bed of 
sorrows, and considers what an excellent difference 
he feels from the groans and intolerable accents of 
yesterday.* 

* See the wretch that long has tost 
On the thorny hed of pain, 
At length regain his vigour lost, 
And breathe and walk again. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



135 



When Cyrus had espied Astyages and his fel- 
lows coming drunk from a banquet loaden with 
variety of follies and filthiness, their legs failing 
them, their eyes red and staring, cozened with a 
moist cloud, and abused by a doubled object, their 
tongues full of sponges, and their heads no wiser, 
he thought they were poisoned: and he had reason ; 
for what malignant quality can be more venomous 
and hurtful to a man than the effect of an intempe- 
rate goblet and a full stomach ? It poisons both the 
soul and body. He that tempts me to drink be- 
yond my pleasure civilly invites me to a fever, and 
to lay aside my reason, as the Persian women did 
their garments and their modesty at the end of 
feasts ; and all the question then will be, which is 
the worst evil, to refuse your uncivil kindness, or 
to suffer a violent head-ache, or to lay up heaps 
big enough for an English surfeit, Creon, in the 
tragedy j said well : — 

The meanest flow'ret of the vale, 
The simplest note that swells the gale, 
The common sun, the air, the skies, 
To him are opening paradise. Gray. 
Enfin, il y a des Plaisirs foudes sur des Peines. Lors- 
qu'on a souffert, la cessation ou la diminution de la douleur 
est un plaisir, et souvent tres-vif. On peut les appeler 
Plaisirs, du Soulagement, ou de la Delivrance. Us sont suscep- 
ibles de fa meme variete que les peines. w Bentham. 



136 



SELECTIONS 



1 It is better for me to grieve thee, O stranger, 
or to be affronted by thee, than to be tormented 
by thy kindness the next day and the morrow 
after.' 

A drunkard and a glutton feels the torments of 
a restless night, although he hath not killed a man ; 
that is, just like murderers and persons of an af- 
frighting conscience. So wakes the glutton, so 
broken and sick and disorderly are the slumbers of 
the drunkard : but for the honour of his banquet 
he hath some ministers attending that he did not 
dream of, and in the midst of his loud laughter, 
u Pallor et gense pendulse, oculorum ulcera, tre- 
mulae manus, furiales somni, inquies nocturna," as 
Pliny reckons them ; ' Paleness and hanging cheeks, 
ulcers of the eyes, and trembling hands, dead or 
distracted sleeps these speak aloud that to-day 
you eat and drink, that to-morrow you may die. and 
die for ever. 

It is reported concerning Socrates, that when 
Athens was destroyed by the plague, he, in the 
midst of all the danger, escaped untouched by 
sickness, because, by a spare and severe diet, he 
had within him no tumult of disorderly humours, 
no factions in his blood, no loads of moisture pre- 
pared for charnel-houses, or the. sickly hospitals ; 
but a vigourous heat, and a well proportioned radi- 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



137 



cal moisture ; he had enough for health and study, 
philosophy and religion, for the temples and the 
academy ; but no superfluities to be spent in groans 
and sickly nights. 

Certain it is that no man ever repented that he 
rose from the table sober, healthful, and with his wits 
about him : but very many have repented that they 
sat so long, till their bellies swelled, and their health, 
and their virtue, and their God is departed from 
them. 

INTEMPERANCE IS THE NURSE OF VICE. 

By faring deliciously every day, men become 
senseless of the evils of mankind, inapprehensive 
of the troubles of their brethren, unconcerned in 
the changes of the world, and the cries of the 
poor, the hunger of the fatherless, and the thirst 
of widows. 

INTEMPERANCE 1$ A PERFECT DESTRUCTION 
OF WISDOM. 

A full gorged belly, never produced a sprightly 
mind. When the sun gives the sign to spread the 
tables, and intemperance brings in the messes, 
and drunkenness fills the bowls, then the man falls 
away, and leaves a beast in his room. A full 
meal is like Sisera's banquet, at the end of which 
there is a nail struck into the head. 



138 



SELECTIONS 



THE RULES AND MEASURES OF TEMPERANCE. 

Every drunkard clothes his head with a mighty 
scorn ; and makes himself lower at that time than 
the meanest of his servants ; the boys can laugh 
at him when he is led like a cripple, directed like 
a blind man, and speaks, like an infant, imperfect 
noises, lisping with a full and spongy tongue, and 
an empty head, and a vain and foolish heart; so 
cheaply does he part with his honour for drink or 
loads of meat ; for which honour he is ready to 
die rather than hear it to be disparaged by another ; 
when himself destroys it as bubbles perish with the 
breath of children. Do not the laws of all wise 
nations mark the drunkard for a fool, with the 
meanest and most scornful punishment ? and is 
there any thing in the world so foolish as a man 
that is drunk? but, good God! what an intoler- 
able sorrow hath seized upon great portions of 
mankind, that this folly and madness should pos- 
sess the greatest spirits and wittiest men, the best 
company, the most sensible of the word honour* 
and the most jealous of losing the shadow, and the 
most careless of the thing ! Is it not a horrid thing, 
that a wise, or a crafty, a learned or a noble per- 
son should dishonour himself as a fool, destroy 
his body as a murderer, lessen his estate as a pro- 
digal, disgrace every good cause that he can pre- 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



139 



tend to by his relation, and become an appellative 
of scorn, a scene of laughter or derision,— and all, 
for the reward of forgetfulness and madness ? for 
there are in immoderate drinking no other pleasures. 

I end with the saying of a wise man ; — 44 He is 
fit to sit at the table of the Lord, and to feast with 
saints, who moderately uses the creatures which 
God hath given him ; but he that despises even 
lawful pleasures, shall not only sit and feast with 
God, but reign together with him, and partake of 
his glorious kingdom." 



THE SACRAMENT. 

We sometimes espy a bright cloud formed into 
an irregular figure ; when it is observed by unskil- 
ful and fantastic travellers, it looks like a Centaur 
to some, and as a castle to others ; some tell that 
they saw an army with banners, and it signifies 
war; but another, wiser than his fellow, says, if- 
looks for all the world like a flock of sheep, and 
foretells plenty ; and all the while it is nothing but 
a shining cloud, by its own mobility, and the ac- 
tivity of a wind cast into a contingent and inartifi- 
cial shape. So it is in this great mystery of our 
religion, in which some espy strange things which 
God intended not, and others see not what God 



140 



SELECTIONS 



hath plainly told ; some call that part of it a mys- 
tery which is none ; and others think all of it no- 
thing but a mere ceremony, and a sign ; some say 
it signifies, and some say it effects ; some say it is 
a sacrifice, and others call it a sacrament ; some 
schools of learning make it the instrument in the 
hand of God : others say that it is God himself 
in that instrument of grace.* 

Since all societies of Christians pretend to the 
greatest esteem of this, above all the rights or ex- 
ternal parts and ministeries of religion, it cannot be 
otherwise but that they will all speak honourable 
things of it, and suppose holy things to be in it, 
and great blessings one way or other to come by it ; 
and it is contemptible only among the profane and 
the atheistical; all the innumerable differences 
which are in the discourses, and consequent prac- 
tices relating to it, proceed from some common 
truths, and universal notions, and mysterious or in- 
explicable words, and tend all to reverential 
thoughts, and pious treatment of these rites and 
holy offices ; and therefore it will not be impossi- 
ble to find honey or wholesome dews upon all this 
variety of plants. f 

RETURN OF KINDNESS. 
Nothing makes societies so fair and lasting as 



* Worthy Communicant, p. 6. f Ibid, p. 8. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



141 



the mutual endearment of each other by good 
offices ; and never any man did a good turn to 
his brother, but one time or other himself did eat 
the fruit of it. The good man in the Greek epi- 
gram, that found a dead man's skull unburied, in 
kindness digging a grave for it, opened the inclo- 
sures of a treasure ; and we read in the Annals of 
France, that when Gontran king of Burgundy was 
sleeping by the murmurs of a little brook, his ser- 
vant espied a lizard coming from his master s head, 
and essaying to pass the water, but seeming trou- 
bled because it could not, he laid his sword over 
the brook, and made an iron bridge for the little 
beast, who passing, entered into the earth, and 
speedily returned back to the king, and disturbed 
him, (as it is supposed) into a dream, in which he 
saw an iron bridge, which landed him at the foot 
of the mountain, where if he did dig, he should 
find a great heap of gold. The servant expounded 
his master's dream, and shewed him the iron 
bridge ; and they digged where the lizard had en- 
tered, where they found indeed a treasure ; and 
that the servant's piety was rewarded upon his 
lord's head, and procured wealth to one, and ho- 
nour to the other. There is in human nature a 
strange kind of nobleness and love to return and 
exchange good offices ; but because there are some 
dogs who bite your hand when you reach them 



142 



SELECTIONS 



bread, God by the ministry of his little creatures 
tells, that if we do not, yet he will certainly recom- 
pense every act of piety and charity we do one 
to another.* 

REAL AND APPARENT HAPPINESS. 
If we should look under the skirt of the pros- 
perous and prevailing tyrant, we should find even 
in the days of his joys, such allays and abatements 
of his pleasure, as may serve to represent him pre- 
sently miserable, besides his final infelicities. For 
I have seen a young and healthful person warm 
and ruddy under a poor and a thin garment, when 
at the same time an old rich person hath been cold 
and paralytic under a load of sables, and the skins 
of foxes. It is the body that makes the clothes 
warm, not the clothes the body ;f and the spirit of 

* Worthy Communicant, p. 191. 
f See Darwin's Zoonomia Diseases of Volition, 8vo. 
edition, vol. 4, p. 68, and see the anecdote in Wordsworth's 
Lyrical Ballads. 

She prayed, her withered hand uprearing, 

While Harry held her by the arm — 

41 God ! who art never out of hearing, 

O may he never more be waim !" 

The cold, cold moon above her head, 

And ic • cold he turned away. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



143 



a man makes felicity and content, not any spoils 
of a rich fortune wrapt about a sickly and an un- 
easy soul. Apollodorus was a traitor and a tyrant, 
and the world wondered to see a bad man have so 
good a fortune ; but knew not that he nourished 
scorpions in his breast, and that his liver and his 
heart were eaten up with spectres and images of 
death ; his thoughts were full of interruptions, his 
dreams of illusions :* his fancy was abused with 
real troubles and fantastic images, imagining that 
he saw the Scythians flaying him alive, his daugh- 
ters like pillars of fire, dancing round about a caul- 
dron in which himself was boiling, and that his 
heart accused itself to be the cause of all these 
evils. 

Does he not drink more sweetly that takes his be- 
verage in an earthen vessel, than he that looks and 
searches into his golden chalices, for fear of poison, 
and looks pale at every sudden noise, and sleeps 

* See Dr. Franklins's letter upon the art of procuring 
pleasant dreams, which thus concludes, — These are the 
rules of the art that, though they generally prove effectual in 
producing the end intended, there is a case in which the most 
punctual observance of them will be totally fruitless. I need 
not mention the case to you, my dear friend : but my account 
of the art would be imperfect without it. The case is, when the 
person who desires to have pleasant dreams has not taken care 
to preserve, what is necessary above all things — A good 
conscience. 



144 



SELECTIONS 



in armour, and trusts no body, and does not trust 
God for his safety. 

Can a man bind a thought with chains, or 
carry imaginations in the palm of his hand? can 
the beauty of the peacock's train, or the ostrich 
plume, be delicious to the palate and the throat? 
does the hand intermeddle with the joys of the 
heart? or darkness, that hides the naked, make him 
warm ? does the body live, as does the spirit ? or 
can the body of Christ be like to common food ? 
indeed the sun shines upon the good and bad ; 
and the vines give wine to the drunkard, as well as 
to the sober man ; pirates have fair winds, and a 
calm sea, at the same time when the just and 
peaceful merchant-man hath them. But although 
the things of this world are common to good and 
bad, yet sacraments and spiritual joys, the food of 
the soul, and the blessing of Christ, are the pecu- 
liar right of saints. 

OX SUPERSTITION. 
I have seen a harmless dove made dark with 
an artificial night, and her eyes sealed and locked 
up with a little quill, soaring upward and flying 
with amazement, fear, and an undiscerning wing; 
she made towards heaven, but knew not that she 
was made a train and an instrument, to teach her 
enemy to prevail upon her and all her defenceless 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



145 



kindred. So is a superstitious man, jealous and 
blind, forward and mistaken; he runs towards 
heaven as he thinks, but he chooses foolish paths, 
and out of fear takes any thing that he is told ; or 
fancies and guesses concerning God, by measures 
taken from his own diseases and imperfections.* 

ADVERSITY,f 

All is well as long as the sun shines, and the 
fair breath of heaven gently wafts us to our own 
purposes. But if you will try the excellency, and 
feel the work of faith, place the man in a persecu- 
tion ; let him ride in a storm, let his bones be bro- 
ken with sorrow, and his eyelids loosed with 
sickness, let his bread be dipped with tears, and 
all the daughters of music be brought low ; let us 
come to sit upon the mar gent of our grave, and let 
a tyrant lean hard upon our fortunes, and dwell 
upon our wrong ; let the storm arise, and the keels 
toss till the cordage crack, or that all our hopes 



* Sermon on Godly Fear: Serm. ix. part 3. 

•f- In the reproof of chance 

Lies the true proof of men. The sea being smooth 
How many shallow bauble boats dare sail 
Upon her patient breast, making their way 
With those of nobler bulk ! 



146 



SELECTIONS 



bulge under us, and descend into the hoflowness of 
sad misfortunes.* 

OX THE MISERIES OF MAX'S LIFE. 
How few men in the world are prosperous ! 
What an infinite number of slaves and beggars, 
of persecuted and oppressed people, fill all cor- 
ners of the earth with groans, and heaven itself 
with weeping, prayers, and sad remembrances! 
How many provinces and kingdoms are afflicted 
by a violent war, or made desolate by popular dis- 
eases ! Some whole countries are remarked with 
fatal evils, or periodical sicknesses. Grand Cairo 

But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage 
The gentle Thetis, and anon, behold 
The strrong-nbb'd bark through liquid mountains cuts. 
Bounding between the two moist elements, 
Like Perseus' horse ; where's then the saucy boat, 
Whose weak un timber' d sides but even now 
Co-rival'd greatness? Troilus and Cressida. 
See Bacon's beautiful Essay on Adversity, where he says — 
*'*'But to speak in a mean, the virtue of prosperity is tempe- 
rance, the virtue of adversity is fortitude, which in morals is 
the more heroical virtue. Prosperity is the blessing of the Old 
Testament, Adversity is the blessing of the new, which car- 
rieth the greater benediction, and the clearer revelation of 
God's favour. Yet even in the Old Testament, if you listen to 
David's harp, you shall hear as many herse-like airs as carols." 
* Holy Dying, ch. 3. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



147 



in Egypt feels the plague every three years return- 
ing like a quartan ague, and destroying many 
thousand of persons. All the inhabitants of Arabia 
the desart are in continual fear of being buried 
in huge heaps of sand, and therefore dwell in tents 
and ambulatory houses, or retire to unfruitful 
mountains, to prolong an uneasy and wilder life. 
And all the countries round about the Adriatic sea 
feel such violent convulsions, by tempests and in- 
tolerable earthquakes, that sometimes whole cities 
find a tomb, and every man sinks with his own 
house, made ready to become his monument, and 
his bed is crushed into the disorders of a grave. 

It were too sad if I should tell how many per- 
sons are afflicted with evil spirits, with spectres 
and illusions of the night. 

He that is no fool, but can consider wisely, if 
he be in love with this world, we need not despair 
but that a witty man might reconcile him with tor- 
tures, and make him think charitably of the rack, 
and be brought to dwell with vipers and dragons, 
and entertain his guests with the shrieks of man- 
drakes, cats, a nd screech-owls, with the filing of iron 
and the harshness of rending of silk, or to admire the 
harmony that is made by an herd of evening 
wolves, when they miss their draught of blood in 
their midnight revels. The groans of a man in a 



148 



SELECTIONS 



fit of the stone are worse than all these ; and the 
distractions of a troubled conscience are worse 
than those groans ; and yet a merry careless sin- 
ner is worse than all that. But if we could, from 
one of the battlements of heaven , espy how many 
men and women at this time lie fainting and dying 
for want of bread ; how many young men are 
hewn down by the sword of war ; how many poor 
orphans are now weeping over the graves of their 
father, by whose life they were enabled to eat; 
if we could but hear how mariners and passengers 
are at this present in a storm, and shriek out be- 
cause their keel dashes against a rock or bulges 
under them; how many people there are that 
weep with want, and are mad with oppression, or 
are desperate by too quick a sense of a constant 
infelicity ; in all reason we should be glad to be 
out of the noise and participation of so many evils. 
This is a place of sorrows and tears, of so great 
evils and a constant calamity : let us remove from 
hence, at least, in affections and preparation of 
mind." 



* Holy Dying, ch. L 
From the place of my birth I shall only desire to remem- 
ber the goodness of the Lord who hath caused my lot to 
fall in a good ground: who hath fed me in a pleasant pas- 
ture, where the well springs of life flow to all that desire to 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR, 



149 



ON IDLE CURIOSITY. 

.Commonly curious persons, or (as trie apos- 
tle's phrase is) busy-bodies, are not solicitous or in- 

drink them. And this is no small favour if I consider how 
many poor people perish among the heathen, where they 
never hear the name of Christ : how many poor christians 
spring up in countries enslaved by Turkish and Anti- christian 
tyrants, whose souls and bodies languish under miserable sla- 
very. None knows what mercy 'tis to live under a good and 
wholesome law, that have not considered the sad condition of 
being subject to the will of an unlimited man. 

Nor is the place only but the time of my coming into the 
world a considerable mercy to me. It was not in the mid- 
night of popery, nor in the dawn of the gospel restored day, 
when light and shades were blended and almost undistin- 
guished, but when the sun of truth was exalted in his pro- 
gress and hastening towards a meridian glory. 

The next blessing [ have to consider in my nativity is my 
parents, both of them pious and virtuous in their own conver- 
sation, and careful instructors of my youth, not only by pre- 
cept, but example, &c. — Hutchinson's Memoirs. 

Such are Mrs. Hutchinson's effusions of gratitude. The 
same sentiment is expressed by Gibbon, who says, " My lot 
might have been that of a slave, a savage, or a peasant; nor 
can I reflect without pleasure on the bounty of nature, which 
cast my birth in a free and civilized country, in an age of 
science and philosophy, in a family of honourable rank, and 
decently endowed with the gifts of fortune." 

Gibbon's Memoirs* 

Coleridge in the introduction to his Lay Sermons, page x. 



150 



SELECTIONS 



quisitive into the beauty and order of a well go- 
verned family, or after the virtues of an excellent 



says, " Few are sufficiently aware how much reason most of 
us have, even as common moral livers, to thank God for being 
Englishmen. It would furnish grounds both for humility 
towards Providence and for increased attachment to our coun- 
try, if each individual could but see and feel, how large a part 
of his innocence he owes to his birth, breeding, and residence 
in Great Britain. The administration of the laws; the al- 
most continual preaching of moral prudence ; the number and 
respectability of our sects ; the pressure of our ranks on each 
other, with the consequent reserve and watchfulness of de- 
meanor in the superior ranks, and the emulation in the subor- 
dinate ; the vast depth, expansion and systematic movements 
of our trade ; and the consequent interdependence, the arte- 
rial or nerve-like net-work of property, which make every de- 
viation from outward integrity a calculable loss to the offending 
individual himself from its mere effects, as obstruction and 
irregularity; and lastly, the naturalness of doing as others do ; 
— these and the like influences, peculiar, some in the kind 
and all in the degree, to this privileged island, are the but- 
tresses, on which our foundationless well-doing is upheld even 
as a house of cards, the architecture of our infancy, in which 
each is supported by all. 

TO BRITAIN. 

I love thee, O my native Isle ! 
Dear as my mother's earliest smile, 
Sweet as my father's voice to me, 
Is all I hear, and all I see ; 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



151 



person : but if there be any thing for which men 
keep locks and bars and porters, things that blush 

When glancing o'er thy beauteous land, 
In view thy Public Virtues stand, 
The guardian-angels of thy coast, 
To watch the dear domestic Host, 
The Heart's Affections, pleased to roam 
Around the quiet heaven of Home. 

I love Thee, — when I mark thy soil 
Flourish beneath the Peasant's toil, 
And from its lap of verdure throw 
Treasures which neither Indies know. 

I love Thee, — when I hear around 
Thy looms, and wheels, and anvils sound. 
Thine Engines heaving all their force, 
Thy waters labouring on their course, 
And Arts, and Industry, and Wealth, 
Exulting in the joys of Health. 

I love Thee, — when I trace thy tale 
To the dim point where records fail ; 
Thy deeds of old renown inspire 
My bosom with our father's fire ; 
A proud inheritance I claim 
In all their sufferings, all their fame : 
Nor less delighted, when I stray 
Down History's lengthening, widening way, 
And hail thee in thy present hour, 
From the meridian arch of power, 
Shedding the lustre of thy reign, 
Like sunshine over land and main. 



152 SELECTIONS 

to see the light, and either are shameful in man- 
ners, or private in nature, these things are their 

I love Thee, — when I read the lays 
Of British Bards, in elder days, 
Till rapt on visionary wings, 
High e'er thy cliffs my Spirit sings ; 
For I, amidst thy living choir, 
I too, can touch the sacred lyre, 

I love Thee, — when I contemplate 
The full-orb'd grandeur of thy state ; 
Thy laws and liberties, that rise, 
Man's noblest works beneath the skies, 
To which the Pyramids are tame, 
And Grecian Temples bow their fame ; 
These, thine immortal Sages wrought 
Out of the deepest mines of thought : 
These, on the scaffold, in the field, 
Thy Warriors won, thy Patriots seal'd ; 
These, at the parricidal pyre, 
Thy Martyrs sanctified in fire. 

I love Thee, — when thy Sabbath dawns 
O'er woods and mountains, dales and lawns, 
And streams that sparkle while they run, 
As if their fountain were the Sun : 
When, hand in hand, thy tribes repair, 
Each to their chosen House of Prayer, 
And all in peace and freedom call 
On Him, who is the Lord of all.* 



* See next page. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



153 



care and their business. But if great things will 
satisfy our inquiry, — the course of the sun and 

I love Thee, — when my Soul can feel 
The Seraph ardours of thy zeal : 
Thy Charities, to none confined, 
Bless, like the sun, the rain, the wind ; 
Thy schools the human brute shall raise, 
Guide erring Youth in Wisdom's ways, 
And leave, when we are turn'd to dust, 
A generation of the Just. 

I love Thee, — when I see thee stand, 
The Hope of every other land : 
A sea-mark in the tide of Time, 
Rearing to heaven thy brows sublime. 

I love Thee, — when I hear thy voice 
Bid a despairing World rejoice, 
And loud from shore to shore, proclaim, 
In every tongue, Messiah's name ; 
That name, at which from sea to sea, 
All nations yet shall bow the knee. 

I love Thee, — Next to heaven above, 
Land of my Fathers ! thee I love ; 
And rail thy Slanderers as they will, 
cs With all thy faults I love thee" still. 

Montgomery, 

* From Bolton's old monastic tower 
The bells ring loud with gladsome power ; 
Of lasses and of shepherd grooms, 
That down the steep hills force their way, 
Like cattle through the budded brooms ; 



154 SELECTIONS 

moon, the spots in their faces, the firmament of 
heaven and the supposed orbs, the ebbing and 

Path or no path, what care they? 
And thus in joyous mood they hie 
To Bolton's mouldering Priory. 
That sumptuous Pile, with all its peers, 
Too harshly hath been doomed to taste 
The bitterness of wrong and waste : 
Its courts are ravaged ; but the tower, 
Is standing with a voice of power, 
That ancient voice which wont to call 
To mass or some high festival ; 
And in the shattered fabric's heart 
Remaineth one protected part; 
A rural chapel, neatly drest, 
In covert like a little nest ; 
The sun is bright ; the fields are gay 
With people in their best array 
Of stole and doublet, hood and scarf, 
Along the banks of the crystal Wharf, 
Through the Vale retired and lowly, 
Trooping to that summons holy. 
And, up among the moorlands, see 
What sprinklings of blithe company ! 
And thither young and old repair, 
This Sabbath day, for praise and prayer. 

Wordswoth's White Doe of Rylstone. 

Oh ! brethren, I have seen sabbath sights, and joined in 
sabbath worships, which took the heart with their simplicity, 
and ravished it with sublime emotions. I have crossed the hills 
in the sober and contemplative autumn, to reach the retired 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 



155 



flowing of the sea, are work enough for us ; or, if 
this be not, let him tell me whether the number of 
the stars be even or odd, and when they began to 
be so. If these be too troublesome, search lower, 
and tell me why this turf this year brings forth a 

lonely church betimes, and as I descended towards the simple 
edifice, whitherto every heart and every foot directed itself from 
the country round, on the sabbath morn, we beheld issuing 
from the vales and mountain glens, the little train of worship- 
pers coming up to the congregation of the Lord's house, around 
which the bones of their fathers reposed, and near to which 
reposed the bones of one who had in cold blood fallen for his 
God, at the hands of that wretched man, the hero of our north- 
ern romances: bones oft visited by pious feet, and covered on 
the hill side where they lie with a stone bearing an inscription 
not to be paralleled in our noble mausoleum, which containeth 
the sshes of those whom the nation delighteth to honour. In 
so holy a place, the people assembled under a roof where ye 
of the plentiful south would not have lodged the porter of 
your gate. But under that roof the people sat and sang their 
maker's praise, " tuning their hearts, by far the noblest aim," 
and the pastor poured forth to God the simple wants of the 
people, and poured into their attentive ears the scope of 
christian doctrine and duty, and having filled the hearts of 
his flock with his consolations, parted with them after much 
blessing and mutual congratulation, and the people went on 
their way rejoicing. Oh ! what meaning there was in the 
whole ! what piety ! what intelligence ! what simplicity ! 
The men were shepherds and came up in their shepherd's 
guise, and the very brute, the shepherd's servant and compa- 
nion, rejoiced to come at his feet. Oh ! it was a sabbath ! a 
sabbath of rest ! From a Sermon of Edward Irvings* 



156 



SELECTIONS 



daisy, and the next year a plantane ; why the ap- 
ple bears his seed in his heart and wheat bears it 
in his head ; let him tell why a graft taking nou- 
rishment from a crab-stock shall have a fruit more 
noble than its nurse and parent : let him sav why 
the best of oil is at the top, the best of wine in the 
middle, and the best of honey at the bottom. But 
these things are not such as please busy-bodies ; 
they must feed upon tragedies, and stories of misfor- 
tunes and crimes.* 



* There is (for life is too short to be wasted on fruitless 
speculations) scarcely any subject of more importance than 
idle curiosity ; or, to speak more correctly, (as all knowledge 
contains something good, all dross some pure metal), 
curiosity in things of little use. " Be not curious," says the 
preacher, "in unnecessary matters, for more things are shewed 
unto thee than men understand." u We spend our days/'' says 
the philosopher, " in unprofitable questions and disputations, 
intricate subtleties, de lana caprina, about moonshine in the 
water." 

Truths, that the learn' d pursue with eager thought, 
Are not important always as dear bought, 
Proving at last, though told in pompous strains, 
A childish waste of philosophic pains ; 
But truths, on which depend our main concern, 
That 'tis our shame and mis'ry not to learn, 
Shine by the side of ev'ry path we tread, 
With such a lustre, he that runs may read. 
See the conclusion of this note, in note P. at the end of the 
volume. 



FROM BISHOP TAYLOR. 157 
ON MERCY. 

If you do but see a maiden carried to her grave 
a little before her intended marriage, or an infant 
die before the birth of reason, nature hath taught 
us to pay a tributary tear. Alas ! your eyes will be- 
hold the ruin of many families, which though they 
sadly have deserved, yet mercy is not deiighted 
with the spectacle ; and therefore God places a 
watery cloud in the eye, that when the light of 
heaven shines upon it, it may produce a rainbow 
to be a sacrament and a memorial that God and 
the sons of God do not love to see a man perish.* 

As contrary as cruelty is to mercy, as tyranny 
to charity, so is war and bloodshed to the meekness 
and gentleness of Christian religion : and, however, 
there are some exterminating spirits who think 
God to delight in human sacrifices, as if that 
Oracle— Ka) vce(pa,Xa<; oby vtcu t£> war pi nefATrere <para } 
had come from the Father of Spirit, yet if they 
were capable of cool and tame homilies, or would 
hear men of other opinions give a quiet account 
without invincible resolutions never to alter their 
persuasions, I am very much persuaded it would 
not be very hard to dispute such men into mercies 
and compliances, and tolerations mutual, such I 

* Sermon at the Opening of the Parliament. 



158 



SELECTIONS 



say, who are zealous for Jesus Christ, than whose 
doctrine never was anything more merciful and 
humane, whose lessons were softer than nard, or 
the juice of the Candian olive. 

CONCLUSION. 
I have followed the design of scripture, and have 
given milk for babes, and for stronger men stronger 
meat; and in all I have despised my own reputa- 
tion, by so striving to make it useful, that I was 
less careful to make it strict in retired sences, and 
embossed* with unnecessary but graceful orna- 
ments. I pray God this may go forth into a bless- 
ing to all that shall use it, and reflect blessings 
upon me all the way, that my spark may grow 
greater by kindling my brother's taper, and God 
may be glorified in us both.T 



* Query inlaid, 
f Preface to Li r e of Christ. 



button 



BISHOP LATIMER. 



My father was a yeoman, and had no lands of his own, only 
he had a farm of three or four pounds by the year at the 
utmost, and hereupon he tilled so much as kept half a dozen 
men. He had walk for an hundred sheep ; and my mother 
milked thirty kine. He was able, and did find the king a 
harness, with himself and his horse, whilst he came to the 
place that he should receive the king's wages. I can remem- 
ber that I buckled his harness when he went to Blackheath 
field. He kept me to school, or else I had not been able to 
have preached before the king's majesty now. 

Sermon preached before the King-, vol. i. 79. 



I 



BISHOP LATIMER. 



HASTY JUDGMENT. 
Here I have occasion to tell you a story which 
happened at Cambridge. Master Bilney, or rather 
Saint Bilney, that suffered death for God's word 
sake, the same Bilney was the instrument whereby 
God called me to knowledge, for I may thank him, 
next to God, for that knowledge that I have in the 
word of God. For I was as obstinate a Papist as any 
was in England, insomuch that when I should be 
made Bachelor of Divinity, my whole oration went 
against Philip Melancthon and against his opi- 
nions. Bilney heard me at that time and per- 
ceived that I was zealous without knowledge ; he 
came to me afterward in my study and desired 
me for God's sake to hear his confession : I did 
so and, to say the very truth, by his confession I 
learned more than before in many years ; so from 
that time forward I began to smell the word of 

M 



162 



SELECTIONS 



God, and forsook the school-doctors and such 
fooleries. 

Now after I had been acquainted with him* I 
went with him to visit the prisoners in the tower 
at Cambridge, for he was ever visiting prisoners 
and sick folk. So we went together, and exhorted 
them as well as we were able to do ; minding them 
to patience, and to acknowledge their faults. 
Among other prisoners, there was a woman which 
was accused that she had killed her child, which 
act she plainly and stedfastiy denied and could 
not be brought to confess the act; which denying 
gave us occasion to search for the matter, and so 
we did, and at length we found that her husband 
loved her not, and therefore he sought means to 
make her out of the way. The matter was thus: 

A child of hers had been sick by the space of a 
year, and so decayed as it were in a consumption. 
At length it died in harvest time ; she went to her 
neighbours and other friends to desire their help 
to prepare the child for burial ; bur there was 
nobody at home, every man was in the field. The 
woman, in an heaviness and trouble of spirit, went, 
and being herself alone, prepared the child for 
burial. Her husband coming home, not having 
great love towards her, accused her of the murder, 
and so she was taken and brought to Cambridge. 



FROM BISHOP LATIMER. 163 

But as far forth as I could learn, through earnest 
inquisition, I thought in my conscience the wo- 
man was not guilty, all the circumstances well 
considered. 

Immediately after this, I was called to preach 
before the king, which was my first Sermon that 
I made before his majesty, and it was done at 
Windsor : where his majesty after the sermon was 
done did most familiarly talk with me in a gal- 
lery. Now when I saw my time, I kneeled down 
before his majesty , opening the whole matter, and 
afterwards most humbly desired his majesty to 
pardon that woman. For I thought in my con- 
science she was not guilty, or else I would not 
for all the world sue for a murderer. The king 
most graciously heard my humble request, inso- 
much that I had a pardon ready for her at my 
returning homeward. In the mean season, that 
woman was delivered of a child in the tower of 
Cambridge, whose godfather I was, and Mistress 
Cheek was godmother. But all that time I hid 
my pardon, and told her nothing of it, only ex- 
horting her to confess the truth. At the length 
the time came when she looked to suffer ; I came 
as I was wont to do, to instruct her; she made 
great moan to me. So we travailed with this 
woman till we brought- her to a good opinion ; 



164 



SELECTIONS 



and at length shewed her the king's pardon, and 
let her go. 

This tale I told you by this occasion, that 
though some women be very unnatural, and for- 
get their children, yet when we hear any body so 
report, we should not be too hasty in believing the 
tale, but rather suspend our judgments till we 
know the truth.* 

CAUSE AND EFFECT. 
Here now I remember an argument of Master 
More's, which he bringeth in a book that he made 
against Bilney, and here by the way I will tell 
you a merry toy. Master More was once sent in 
commission into Kent, to help to try out, if it 
might be, what was the cause of Goodwin sands 
and the shelf that stepped up Sandwich haven. 
Thither cometh Master More, and calleth the 
country before him, such as were thought to be 
men of experience, and men that could of likeli- 
hood best certify him of that matter concerning 
the stopping of Sandwich haven. Among others 
came in before him an old man with a white head, 
and one that was thought to be little less than an 
hundred years old. When Master More saw this 



* Serm. xvi. vol. 1, 326. ed. 1758. 



FROM BISHOP LATIMER. 



165 



aged man, he thought it expedient to hear him say 
his mind in this matter, for, being so old a man, 
it was likely that he knew most of any man in 
that presence and company. So Master More 
called this old aged man unto him, and said, 
father, tell me, if ye can, what is the cause of 
this great rising of the sands and shelves here 
about this haven, the which stop it up, so that no 
ships can arrive here ? Ye are the eldest man that 
I can espy in all this company, so that if any man 
can tell any cause of it, ye of likelihood can say 
most of it, or at leastwise more than any man here 
assembled. Yea, forsooth, good Master, quoth 
this old man, for I am well nigh an hundred years 
old, and no man here in this company any thing 
near unto my age. Well then, quoth Master 
More, how say you in this matter? What think ye 
to be the cause of these shelves and flats that stop 
up Sandwich haven ? Forsooth, sir, quoth he, I 
am an old man ; I think that Tenderden-steeple, 
is the cause of Goodwin sands; for I am an old 
man, sir, quoth he, and I may remember the 
building of Tenderden-steeple, and I may remem- 
ber, when there was no steeple at all there. And 
before that Tenderden-steeple was in building, 
there was no manner of speaking of any flats or 
sands that stopped the haven, and therefore I 



166 



SELECTIONS 



think that Tenderden- steeple is the cause of the 
destroying and decay of Sandwich haven. And 
so to my purpose, preaching of God's word is the 
cause of rebellion, as Tenderden-steeple was the 
cause that Sandwich haven is decayed .* 

CHURCH PATRONAGE, 

If the men in Turkey should use in their reli- 
gion of Mahometf to sell, as our patrons com- 
monly sell benefices here, the office of preaching, 
the office of salvation, it would be taken as an 
intolerable thing ; the Turk would not suffer it in 
his commonwealth. Patrons be charged to see 
the office done, and not to seek lucre and gain 
by their patronship, There was a patron in 



*The subject of Cause and Effect, is of so much import- 
ance to the regulation of our opinions, and the subject has of 
late been so much investigated, particularly by Brown, in his 
excellent work on Cause and Effect, that I venture to subjoin 
six general positions upon this most interesting part of 
science. See note X. at the end of the volume. 

f Ricaut says, the Turks have a great regard to truth 
in all their dealings ; and that they detest lying and deceit. 
The Mufti of Constantinople keep no office for the sale of dis- 
pensations, pardons, indulgences, the purchase of livings in 
proviso, the praying of souls out of purgatory, and the canoni- 
zation of saints. 



FROM BISHOP LATIMER. 167 

England, when it was, that had a benefice 
fallen into his hand, and a good brother of mine 
came unto him, and brought him thirty apples in a 
dish, and gave them to his man to carry them to 
his master ; and it is like he gave one to his man 
for his labour, to make up the game, and so there 
was thirty one. This man cometh to his master, 
and presenteth him with the dish of apples, saying, 
sir, such a man hath sent you a dish of fruit, and 
desireth you to be good unto him for such a bene- 
fice. Tush, tush, quoth he, this is no apple mat- 
ter ; I will have none of his apples, I have as good 
as these, or as any he hath, in my own orchard. 
The man came to the priest again, and told him 
what his master said : then quoth the priest, 
desire him yet to prove one of them for my sake, 
he shall find them much better than they look for. 
He cut one of them, and found ten pieces of gold 
in it. Marry quoth he, this is a good apple : 
the priest standing not far off, hearing what the 
gentleman said, cried out and answered, they are 
all one fruit, I warrant you sir; they grew all on 
one tree, and have all one taste. Well, he is a 
good fellow, let him have it, said the patron, &c. 
Get you a graft of this tree, and I warrant you it 
will stand you in better stead than all St. Paul's 
learning.* 



* Serm. ix. vol. 1, 165. ed. 1758. 



163 



SELECTION? 



CONTEMPLATION AND ACTION* 

We read a pretty story of St. Anthony, who 
being in the wilderness, led there a very hard and 
strict life, insomuch as none at that time did the 
like, to whom came a voice from heaven, saying, 
Anthony, thou art not so perfect as is a cobbler 
that dwelleth at Alexandria. Anthony hearing 
this, rose up forthwith, and took his staff and 
travelled till he came to Alexandria, where he 
found the cobbler. The cobbler was astonished to 



* Lord Bacon is constant in his admonition of the wisdom 
of uniting Contemplation and Action, " that,''' he says, M will 
indeed dignry and exalt knowledge, if contemplation and ac- 
tion may be more nearly and strongly conjoined and united 
together, than they hare been : a comunction like unto that 
of the two highest planets, Saturn the planet of rest and con- 
templation, and Jupiter the planet of civil society and action : 
And speaking of himself, Lord Bacon says, we judge also 
that mankind may conceive some hopes from our example, 
which we offer, not byway of ostentation, but because it may 
be useful. If any one therefore should despair, let him con- 
sider a man as much employed in civil affairs as any other of 
bis age, a man of no gTeat share of health, who must there- 
fore have lost much time, and yet, in this undertaking, he is 
the first that leads the way, unassisted by any mortal, and 
steadfastly entering the truepatb, that was absolutely untrod 
before, and submitting his mind to things, may somewhat 
have advanced the design." 



FROM BISHOP LATIMER. 169 

see so reverend a father come to his house. Then 
Anthony said unto him, Come and tell me 
thy whole conversation, and how thou spendest 
thy time ? Sir, said the cobbler, as for me, good 
works have I none, for my life is but simple and 
slender ; I am but a poor cobbler : in the morning 
when I rise, I pray for the whole city wherein I 
dwell, especially for all such neighbours and poor 
friends as I have : after, I set me at my labour' 
where I spend the whole day in getting my liv- 
ing, and I keep me from all falsehood, for I hate 
nothing so much as I do deceitfulness : wherefore, 
when I make any man a promise, I keep it, and 
perform it truly; and thus I spend my time 
poorly, with my wife and children, whom I teach 
and instruct, as far as my wit will serve me, to fear 
and dread God. And this is the sum of my sim- 
ple life.* 



* Serai, xxxiii. vol. 2, p. 737. ed. 1758. 
Amongst the reasons which Sir Thomas More as- 
signs for not having sooner published his Utopia, he has 
transmitted to us the following family picture : — Dum 
foris totum ferme diem aliis impertior, reliquum meis : 
relinquo mihi, hoc est, Uteris nihil. Nempe reverso domum, 
cum uxore fabulandum est, garriendum cum liberis, collo- 
quendum cum ministris. Quae ego omnia inter negotia nu- 
mero, quando fieri necesse est (necesse est autem, nisi velis 



170 



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THE SHEPHERDS. 

The Nativity was revealed first to the shepherds, 
and it was revealed unto them in the night time, 
when every body was at rest, then they heard the 
joyful tidings of the Saviour of the world: for 
these shepherds were keeping their sheep in the 
night season from the wolf or other beasts, and 
from the fox. 

By these shepherds all men may learn to at- 
tend upon their offices, and callings : I would 
wish that all clergymen, the curates, parsons, and 
vicars, the bishops and all other spiritual persons, 
would learn this lesson by these poor shepherds ; 
which is this, to abide by their flocks and by their 
sheep, to tarry amongst them, to be careful over 

esse domi tua peregrinus) et danda omnino opera est, ut 
quos vitse tuae comites, aut naturaprovidit, aut fecit casus, aut 
ipse delegisti, his ut te quam jucundissimum compares.- — 
Mori Utopia, pr&fatio, pagina, 4. 5. 

He devoted the little time which he could spare from his 
avocations abroad to his family, and spent it in little innocent 
and endearing conversations with his wife and children: 
which, though some might think them trifling amusements, 
he placed among the necessary duties and business of life ; 
it being incumbent on every one to make himself as agreeable 
as possible to those whom nature has made, or he himself has 
singled out for his companions in life. 



FROM BISHOP LATIMER. 171 



them, not to run hither and thither after their 
own pleasure, but to tarry by their benefices and 
feed their sheep with the food of God's word, and 
to keep hospitality, and so to feed them both soul 
and body.* 

And now I would ask a strange question ; who 
is the most diligent bishop and prelate in all Eng- 
land, and passeth all the rest in doing his office ? 
I can tell, for I know him who he is ; I know him 
well : but now methinks I see you listening and 
hearkening that I should name him. There is one 
that passeth all the other, and is the most diligent 
prelate and preacher in all England. And will ye 
know who it is ? I will tell you : It is the devil. 
He is the most diligent preacher of all other ; he 
is never out of his diocese ; he is never from his 
cure ; ye shall never find him unoccupied ; he is 
ever in his parish ; he keepeth residence at all 
times ; ye shall never find him out of the way, call 
for him when ye will ; he is ever at home ; the 
most diligent preacher in all the realm. He is ever 
at his plough ; no lording nor loitering may 
hinder him ; he is ever applying to his business ; 
ye shall never find him idle, I warrant you. And 
his office is to hinder religion, to maintain super- 



* Serra. xxxv. vol. 2. p. 769. ed. 1758. 



172 



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stition, to set up idolatry, to teach all kind of 
popery. He is as ready as can be wished for to set 
forth his plough ; to devise as many ways as can be 
to deface and obscure God's glory. Where the 
devil is resident, and hath his plough going-, there 
away with books and up with candles; away with 
bibles and up with beads ; away with the light of 
the gospel., and up with the light of candles, yea, 
at noon-day. Where the devil is resident, that 
he may prevail, up with all superstition and ido- 
latry; censing, painting of images, candles, palms, 
ashes, holy water, and new service of mens' invent- 
ing; as though man could invent a better way to 
honour God with, than God himself hath appoint- 
ed, Down with Christ's cross, up with purgatory 
pickpurse, up with popish purgatory, I mean. 
Away with clothing the naked, the poor and im- 
potent, up with decking of images, and gay gar- 
nishing of stocks and stones ; up with man's tradi- 
tions and his laws, down with God's will and his 
most holy word. Down with the old honour due 
unto God, and up with the new god's honour. 
Let all things be done in Latin : there must be 
nothing but Latin, not so much as, " Remember 
man that thou art ashes, and into ashes shalt thou 
return. "* 



* Serm, iv. vol. i, p. 32. ed. 3758. 



FROM BISHOP LATIMER. 



173 



DRESS. 

We need not to cry out against Bethlehem, but 
let us cry out on ourselves, for we are as ill in all 
points as they were. I warrant you, there was many 
ajolly damsel at that time in Bethlehem, yet amongst 
them all there was not one found that would humble 
herself so much as once to go see poor Mary in 
the stable, and to comfort her. No, no; they 
were too fine to take so much pains. I warrant 
you they had their bracelets, and fardingals, and 
were trimmed with all manner of fine and costly 
raiment, like as there be many now-a-days amongst 
us, which study nothing else but how they may 
devise fine raiment ; and in the mean season, they 
suffer poor Mary to lie in the stable ; that is to 
say, the poor people of God they suffer to perish 
for lack of necessaries.* But what was her swad- 
dling clothes wherein she laid the king of heaven 
and earth? no doubt it was poor geer, peradven- 
ture it was her kerchief which she took from her 
head.f 



* Serm. xxxii. vol. 2, p. 715. ed. 1758. 

f Burnet in his History of his Own Times, when speaking 
of Sir H. Grimstone, says, — 

" His second wife, whom I knew, was niece to the great 
Sir Francis Bacon, and was the last of that family. She had 
all the high notions for the church and the crown, in which 



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"By this shall all men know that ye are my 
disciples if ye shall love one another." So that he 
maketh love his cognizance, his badge, his livery. 
Like as every lord most commonly giveth a 
certain livery to his servants, whereby they may 
be known that they pertain unto him ; and so 

he had been bred ; but was the humblest, and devoutest, 
and the best tempered person I ever knew of that sort. It was 
really a pleasure to hear her talk of religion. She did it with 
so much elevation and force. She was always very plain 
in her clothes. And went oft to jails to consider the wants 
of the prisoners, and relieve, or discharge them ; and by the 
meanness of her dress she passed but for a servant trusted 
with the charities of others. When she was travelling in 
the country, as she drew near a village, she often ordered her 
coach to stay behind till she had walked about it, giving 
orders for the instruction of children, and leaving liberally 
for that end. With two such persons I spent several of my 
years very happily." — Virtue," says Lord Bacon, "is like a rich 
stone, best plain set. Cleanliness, and the civil beauty of the 
body was ever esteemed to proceed from a modesty of beha- 
viour, and a due reverence in the first place towards God, 
whose creatures we are : then towards society, wherein we 
live : then towards ourselves, whom we ought no less, nay 
much more to revere. But adulterate decoration by painting 
and cerusse, is well worthy the imperfections which attend it ; 
being neither fine enough to deceive, nor handsome enough 
to please, nor wholesome to use. We read of Jesabel that she 
painted her face : but there is no such report of Esther or 
Judith. — Lord Bacon. 



FROM BISHOP LATIMER. 



175 



we say yonder is this Lord's servants, because 
they wear his livery. So our Savour, who is the 
lord above all lords, would have his servants to 
be known by their liveries and badge, which badge 
is love alone. Whosoever now is indued with 
love and charity, is his servant; him we may 
call Christ's servant : for love is the token whereby 
you know that such a servant pertaineth to 
Chirst ; so that charity may be called the very 
livery of Christ. He that hath charity is Christ's 
servant : he that hath not charity, is the servant 
of the devil. For like as Christ's livery is love 
and charity, so the devil's livery is hatred, malice, 
and discord. 

RELIGIOUS PERSECUTION. 
St. Luke hath observants, observants; 
that is, watchers, tooters, spies, much like the ob- 
servant friars, the barefoot friars that were here ; 
which indeed were the bishop of Rome's spies, 
watching, in every country, what was said or done 
against him. He had it quickly by one or other 
of his spies, they were his men altogether; his 
posts, to work against the regalita. In the court, 
in the noblemen's houses, in every merchant's 
house, those observants were spying, tooting, and 
looking, watching and praying, what they might 



176 



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hear and see, against the see of Rome. Take 
heed of these observants.* 

I was once in examination before five or six 
bishops, where I had much turmoiling : every 
week thrice I came to examination, and many 
snares and traps were laid to get something. Now 
God knoweth I was ignorant of the law ; but that 
God gave me answer and wisdom what I should 
speak. It was God, indeed, for else I had never 
escaped them. At the last I was brought forth to 
be examined, in a chamber hanged with arras, 
where I was wont to be examined, but now at this 
time the chamber was somewhat altered. For 
whereas before there was wont ever to be a fire in 
the chimney, now the fire was taken away, and an 
arras hanging hanged over the chimney, and the 
table stood near the chimney's end ; so that I stood 
between the table and the chimney's end. There 
was among these bishops that examined me, one 
with whom 1 have been very familiar, and took 
him for my great friend, an aged man, and he 
sat next the table's end. Then among all other 
questions, he put forth one, a very subtle and 
crafty one, and such a one indeed as I could not 



* Serm. xii. vol. 2, p. 236, ed. 175S. 



FROM BISHOP LATIMER. 



177 



think so great danger in. And when I should 
make answer, I pray you, Master Latimer, saith 
he, speak out; I am very thick of hearing, and 
here be many that sit far off. I marvelled at this, 
that I was bidden to speak out, and began to 
misdeem, and gave an ear to the chimney. And, 
sir, there I heard a pen walking in the chimney 
behind the cloth. They had appointed one there 
to write all my answers, for they made sure work 
that I should not start from them, there was no 
starting from them. God was my good Lord, and 
gave me answer, I could never else have escaped it.* 
At the trial of Bishop Latimer in the 76th year 
of his age, the charge was read by the Bishop of 
Lincoln. " We object to thee, Hugh Latimer, first, 
that thou in this University of Oxford, in the year 
1554, in April, May, June, July, or in some one 
or more of them, hast affirmed, and openly de- 
fended and maintained, and in many other times 
and places besides, That the true and natural 
body of Christ, after the consecration of the priest, 
is not really present in the sacrament of the altar." 
Whereupon Lincoln, with the other Bishops, ex- 
horted Master Latimer again to recant and revoke 
his errors. But on his refusal the Bishop of Lin- 



* Serm. xii. vol. 1. p. 247. ed. 1758. 



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SELECTIONS, &C. 



coin called aloud to Master Latimer, and bid him 
hearken to him ; and then he pronounced on him 
the sentence, and delivered him over to the 
secular power. 

About eight of the clock Ridley and Latimer 
were conducted from the mayor's house to the 
place of execution, which was a spot of ground 
on the north side of the town over-against Baliol 
College. In their way thither Ridley outwent 
Latimer some way before ; but he looking back 
espied Latimer coming after, and said to him, " 0, 
be ye there?" " Yea, said Master Latimer, have 
after as fast as I can follow." Bishop Ridley first 
entered the lists, dressed in his episcopal habit ; 
and soon after, bishop Latimer, as usual, in his 
prison garb. Master Latimer now suffered the 
keeper to pull off his prison-garb, and then he ap- 
peared in a shroud. Being ready, he fervently re- 
commended his soul to God, and then delivered 
himself to the executioner, saying, to the Bishop of 
London these prophetical words : i{ We shall this 
day, ray lord, light such a candle in England, as 
shall never be extinguished." 



Beaton WW* 



DR. SOUTH. 

Who can tell all the windings and turnings, all the depths, 
all the hollownesses and dark corners of the mind of man ? 
He who enters upon this scrutiny, enters into a labyrinth or 
a wilderness, where he has no guide but chance or industry 
to direct his enquiries or to put an end to his search. It is 
a wilderness, in which a man may wander more than forty 
years ; a wilderness through which few have passed to the 
promised land. 

Sermon on Prov. xxviii, 26. 



i 



I 
I 



SELECTIONS. 



PLEASURE. 

1. In general. 

2. In particular. 

1. Sensual compared with intellectual 

pleasure. 

2. Pleasure of great place. 

3. Pleasure of amusement compared with 

the pleasure of industry. 

4. Pleasure of meditation. 

5. Pleasure of religion. 

PLEASURE IN GENERAL. 

Pleasure in general, is the apprehension of a 
suitable object, sutably applied to a rightly dis- 
posed faculty ; and so must be conversant both 
i about the faculties of the body and of the soul 
respectively.* 



* Does not happiness consist in a due exercise of all our 
faculties ? The harp in tune and properly played. 
Strange that a harp with many strings 
Should keep in tune so long. 



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SENSUAL COMPARED WITH INTELLECTUAL 
PLEASURE. 

The difference of which two estates consists in 
this ; that in the former the sensitive appetites 
rule and domineer ; in the latter the supreme fa- 
culty of the soul, called reason, sways the sceptre 
and acts the whole man above the irregular de- 
mands of appetite and affection. 

There is no doubt, but a man while he resigns 
himself up to the brutish guidance of sense and 
appetite, has no relish at all for the spiritual re- 
refined delights of a soul clarified by grace and 
virtue. The pleasures of an angel can never be 
the pleasures of a hog. But this is the thing that 
we contend for, that a man having once advanced 
himself to a state of superiority over the control of 
his inferior appetites finds an infinitely more solid 
and sublime pleasure in the delights proper to his 
reason, than the same person had ever conveyed 
to him by the bare ministry of his senses.* 



* The pleasure and delight of knowledge and learning 
far surpasseth all other in nature : for, shall the pleasures of 
the affections so exceed the senses, as much as the obtaining 
of desire or victory, exceedeth a song or a dinner ; and must 
not, of consequence, the pleasures of the intellect or under- 
standing exceed the pleasures of the affections ? We see in all 
other pleasures there is satiety, and after they be used, their 



FROM DR. SOUTH. 



183 



The change and passage from a state of nature, 
to a state of virtue, is laborious. The ascent up 

verdure departeth ; which sheweth well they be but deceits of 
pleasure, and not pleasure ; and that it was the novelty which 
pleased, and not the quality : and therefore we see that vo- 
luptuous men turn friars, and ambitious princes turn melan- 
choly. But of knowledge there is no satiety, but satisfaction 
and appetite are perpetually interchangeable. 

The poet that beautified the sect, that was otherwise inferior 
to the rest, saith yet excellently well : It is a pleasure to 
stand upon the shore, and to see ships tossed upon the sea : 
a pleasure to stand in the window of a castle, and to see a bat- 
tle, and the adventures thereof below : but no pleasure is com- 
parable to the standing upon the vantage ground of truth (a 
hill not to be commanded, and where the air is always clear 
and serene), and to see the errors, and wanderings, and mists, 
and tempests, in the vale below ; so always that this prospect 
be with pity, and not with swelling or pride. Certainly, it is 
heaven upon earth, to have a man's mind move in charity > 
rest in providence, and turn upon the poles of truth. 

Nature never did betray 

The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, 
Through all the years of this our life, to lead 
From joy to joy : for she can so infor m 
The mind that is within us, so impress 
With quietness and beauty, and so feed 
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, 
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, 
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all 
The dreary intercourse of daily life, 
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb 



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the hill is hard and tedious, but the serenity and 
fair prospect at the top, is sufficient to incite the 
labour of undertaking it, and to reward it being 
undertook.* 

Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold 
Is full of blessings. 

Wordsworth. 
Children and fools chuse to please their senses rather than 
their reason, because they still dwell within the regions of 
sense, and have but little residence among intellectual essences. 
And because the needs of nature first employ the sensual ap- 
petites, these being first in possession would also fain retain it, 
and therefore for ever continue the title, and perpetually fight 
for it ; but because the inferior faculty fighting against the su- 
perior is no better than a rebel, and that it takes reason for 
its enemy, it shews such actions which please the sense and do 
not please the reason to be unnatural, monstrous, and unrea- 
sonable. And it is a great disreputation to the understanding 
of a man, to be so cozened and deceived, as to chuse money 
before a moral virtue ; to please that which is common to him 
and beasts, rather than that part which is a communication of 
the divine nature ; to see him run after a bubble which himself 
hath made, and the sun hath particoloured. 

Against this folly christian religion opposes contempt of 
things below, and setting our affections on things above. 

Taylw's Life of Christ. 
* I shall detain you now no longer in the demonstration oi 
what we should not do, but straight conduct you to a hill side, 
where I will point you out the right path of a virtuous and 
noble education ; laborious indeed at the first ascent, but else 
so smooth, so green, so full of goodly prospect and melodious 



FROM DR. SOUTH. 



185 



PLEASURE OF GREAT PLACE. 

But to look upon those pleasures also, that have 
an higher object than the body; as those that 
spring from honour and grandeur of condition; 
yet we shall find, that even these are not so fresh 
and constant, but the mind can nauseate them ? 
and quickly feel the thinness of a popular breath. 
Those that are so fond of applause while they pur- 
sue it, how little do they taste it when they have 
it! like lightning, it only flashes upon the face 
and is gone, and it is well if it does not hurt the 
man. But for greatness of place, though it is fit 
and necessary that some persons in the world 
should be in love with a splendid servitude, yet 
certainly they must be much beholding to their 
own fancy, that they can be pleased at it.* 



sounds on every side, that the harp of Orpheus was not more 
charming. — Milton. 

* Men in great place are thrice servants ; servants of the 
sovereign or state, servants of fame, and servants of business ; 
so as they have no freedom, neither in their persons, nor in 
their actions, nor in their times. It is a strange desire to 
seek power and to lose liberty ; or to seek power over others 
and to lose power over a man's self. Certainly great per- 
sons had need to borrow other men's opinions to think them- 
selves happy ; for if they judge by their own feeling they 
cannot find it ; but if they think with themselves what other 
men think of them, and that other men would fain be as they 
are, then they are happy as it were by report, when, perhaps , 



186 



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THE PLEASURE OF AMUSEMENT COMPARED WITH 
THE PLEASURE FROM INDUSTRY IN OUR 
CALLINGS. 

Nor is that man less deceived, that thinks to 
maintain a constant tenure of pleasure, by a conti- 
nual pursuit of sports and recreations. The most 
voluptuous and loose person breathing, were he 
but tied to follow his hawks and his hounds, his 
dice and his courtships every day, would find it 
the greatest torment and calamity that could be- 
fall him ; he would fly to the mines and galleys 
for his recreation, and to the spade and the mat- 
tock for a diversion from the misery of a conti- 
nual unintermitted pleasure. But, on the con- 
trary, the providence of God has so ordered the 
course of things, that there is no action, the use- 
fulness of which has made it the matter of duty 
and of a profession, but a man may bear the con- 
tinual pursuit of it, without loathing and satiety. 
The same shop and trade, that employs a man in 
his youth, employs him also in his age. Every 



they find the contrary within ; for they are the first that find 
their own griefs, though they be the last that find their own 
faults. Certainly men in great fortunes are strangers to 
themselves, and while they are in the puzzle of business they 
have no time to tend their health either of body or mind: 
" I Hi mors gravis incubat, qui notus nimis omnibus, ignotus 
moritur sibi." — Baton. 



FROM DR. SOUTH. 



187 



morning he rises fresh to his hammer and anvii ;* 
he passes the day singing; custom has naturalised 
his labour to him ; his shop is his element, and he 
cannot with any enjoyment of himself live out 
of it.f 

THE PLEASURE OF MEDITATION 

Has been sometimes so great, so intense, so in- 
grossing all the powers of the soul, that there 
has been no room left for any other pleasure. 
Contemplation feels no hunger, nor is sensible of 
any thirst, but of that after knowledge. How fre- 
quent and exalted a pleasure did David find from 
his meditation in the divine law ? all the day long 
it was the theme of his thoughts : The affairs of 
state, the government of his kingdom, might indeed 
employ, but it was this only that refreshed his mind. 



* See Ante 168. 
f With what hard toil, with what uneasy cares, 
The woodpecker his scanty meal prepares: 
Tho' small the feast that must reward his pains, 
Sweet is that meal which honest labour gains. 
Johnson thought the happiest life was that of a man of 
business, with some literary pursuits for his amusement : and 
that in general no one could be virtuous or happy, that was 
not completely employed. "Be not solitary; be not idle,'' 
is the conclusion of Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy. See 
Search's Light of Nature, vol. x. where there is a chapter on 
employment of Time. 



188 



SELECTIONS 



How short of this are the delights of the epicure ? 
how vastly disproportionate are the pleasures of the 
eating and of the thinking man ? indeed as different 
as the silence of an xirchimedes in the study of a 
problem, and the stillness of a sow at her wash. 

PLEASURE OF RELIGION. 

Its object is no less than the great God himself, 
and that both in his nature and his works. For 
the eye of reason, like that of the eagle, directs 
itself chiefly to the sun, to a glory that neither ad- 
mits of a superior, nor an equal. Religion carries 
the soul to the study of every divine attribute. 
Her ways are ways of pleasantne gs and all her 
paths are peace.* 



* Serm. i* vol. 1. 
It was now the middle of May, and the morning was 
remarkably serene, when Mr. Allworthy walked forth on the 
terrace, where the dawn opened every minute that lovely 
prospect we have before described to his eye. And now, 
having sent forth streams of light, which ascended the blue 
firmament before him as harbingers preceding his pomp, in 
the full blaze of his majesty, up rose the sun : than which one- 
object alone in this lower creation could be more glorious, and 
that Mr. Allworthy himself presented — a human being re- 
plete with benevolence, meditating in what manner he 
might render himself most acceptable to his Creator, by doing 
most good to his creatures. — Fielding. 



FROM DR. SOUTH. 



HUMAN PERFECTION : 

OR ADAM IN PARADISE. 

So God created man in his own image, in the image 
of God created he him. 

ANALYSIS OF THE SERMON. 

1. The mind. 

The Understanding. 
The Will. 
The Passions. 

2. The Body. 

PERFECTION IN GENERAL. 

The image of God in man is That universal 
rectitude of all the faculties of the soul, by which 
they stand apt and disposed to their respective 
offices and operations. 

PERFECTION OF UNDERSTANDING. 

And first for its noblest faculty, the understand- 
ing: it was then sublime, clear, and aspiring, and, 
as it were, the soul's upper region, lofty and serene ? 
free from the vapours and disturbances of the in- 
ferior affections. It was the leading, controlling 
faculty ; all the passions wore the colours of rea- 
son ; it did not so much persuade, as command ; 
it was not consul but dictator. Discourse was 
then almost as quick as intuition; it was nimble 



190 



SELECTIONS 



in proposing, firm in concluding ; it could sooner 
determine than now it can dispute. Like the sun 
it had both light and agility ; it knew no rest but 
in motion ; no quiet but in activity. It did not so 
properly apprehend as irradiate the object ; not so 
much find, as make things intelligible. It did ar- 
bitrate upon the several reports of sense, and all 
the varieties of imagination ; not like a drousy 
judge, only hearing, but also directing their ver- 
dict. In sum, it was vegete, quick, and lively ; 
open as the day, untainted as the morning, full of 
the innocence and sprightliness of youth ; it gave 
the soul a bright and a full view into all things. 

SPECULATIVE UNDERSTANDING*. 

For the understanding speculative, there are 
some general maxims and notions in the mind of 
man, which are the rules of discourse, and the 
basis of all philosophy. Now it was Adam's hap- 
piness in the state of innocence to have these clear 
and unsullied. He came into the world a philoso- 
pher. He could see consequents yet dormant in their 

* That understanding is in a perfect state for the ac- 
quisition of knowledge, which is capable, at any time, to 
acquire any sort of knowledge, The defects therefore are 
either, 1st. An inability at particular times to acquire know- 
ledge : or 2ndly. An inability to acquire particular sorts of 
knowledge. 



FROM DR. SOUTH. 



191 



principles, and effects yet unborn and in the womb 
of their causes : his understanding could almost 
pierce into future contingents; his conjectures im- 
proving even to prophecy, or the certainties of pre- 
diction ; till his fall it was ignorant of nothing but 
of sin ; or at least it rested in the notion without the 
smart of the experiment. Could any difficulty have 
been proposed, the resolution would have been as 
early as the proposal ; it could not have had time 
to settle into doubt. Like a better Archimedes, 
the issue of all his enquiries was an evpyka an 
evpriKcc, the offspring of his brain without the 
sweat of his brow. There was then no poring, no 
struggling with memory, no straining for invention. 
His faculties were quick and expedite ; they an- 
swered without knocking, they were ready upon the 
first summons, there was freedom, and firmness in 
all their operations. I confess 'tis as difficult for us 
who date our ignorance from our first being, and 
were still bred up with the same infirmities about 
us with which we were born, to raise our thoughts 
and imagination to those intellectual perfections 
that attended our nature in the time of innocence, 
as it is for a peasant bred up in the obscurities of a 
cottage, to fancy in his mind the unseen splen- 
dours of a court. But by rating positives by their 
privatives, and other arts of reason, by which dis- 



192 



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course supplies the want of the reports of sense, we 
may collect the excellency of the understanding 
then, by the glorious remainders of it now, and 
guess at the stateliness of the building by the 
magnificence of its ruins. And certainly that 
must needs have been very glorious, the decays of 
which are so admirable. He that is comely, when 
old and decrepit, surely was very beautiful, when 
he was young. An Aristotle was but the rubbish 
of an Adam, and Athens but the rudiments of 
paradise. 

PRACTICAL UNDERSTANDING. 

The image of God was no less resplendent in 
that which we call man's practical understanding ; 
namely, that store-house of the soul, in which are 
treasured up the rules of action, and the seeds of 
morality. Now of this sort are these maxims, 
u That God is to be worshipped." " That parents 
are to be honoured." " That a man's word is to 
be kept." It was the privilege of Adam innocent 
to have these notions also firm and untainted, to 
carry his monitor in his bosom, his law in his 
heart. His own mind taught him a due depend- 
ance upon God, and chalked out to him the just 
proportions, and measures of behaviour to his fel- 
low-creatures. Reason was his tutor, and first 



FROM DR. SOUTH. 



193 



principles his magna moralia. The decalogue of 
Moses was but a transcript, not an original. All 
the laws of nations and wise decrees of state, the 
statutes of Solon, and the twelve tables, were 
but a paraphrase upon this standing rectitude of 
nature, this fruitful principle of Justice, that was 
ready to run out and enlarge itself into suitable 
determinations upon all emergent objects and 
occasions. Justice then was neither blind to dis- 
cern nor lame to execute. It was not subject to 
be imposed upon by a deluded fancy, nor yet to 
be bribed by a glozing appetite, for an utile or 
jucundum to turn the balance to a false or disho- 
nest sentence. In all its directions of the inferior 
faculties it conveyed its suggestions with clear- 
ness and enjoined them with power; it had the 
passions in perfect subjection; and though its 
command over them was but suasive and political, 
yet it had the force of coaction and despotical. 
It was not then, as it is now, where the conscience 
has only power to disapprove and to protest 
against the exorbitances of the passions, and ra- 
ther to wish, than make them otherwise* The 
voice of conscience now is low and weak, chastis- 
ing the passions, as old Eli did his lustful domi- 
neering, sons: " Not so, my sons, not so;" but 
the voice of conscience then was not, " This should , 



- 



SELECTIONS 



or this ought to be done :" but et this must, this shall 
be done." It spoke like a legislator: the thing 
spoke was a law : and the manner of speaking it 
a new obligation. 

PERFECTION OF THE W ILL. 

The will was then ductile and pliant to all the 
motions of right reason, it met the dictates of a 
clarified understanding half way. And the ac- 
tive info rin at ion of the intellect filling the passive 
reception of the mD, like form closing with matter, 
grew actuate into a third and distinct perfection 
of practice: the understanding and will never dis- 
agreed, for the proposals of the one never thwarted 
the inclinations of the other. Yet neither did the 
will survilely attend upon the understanding, but 
as a favourite does upon his prince, where the 
service is privilege and preferment ; or as Solo- 
men's servants waited upon him, it admired its 
wisdom, and heard his prudent dictates and coun- 
sels, both the direction and the reward of its obe- 
dience. It is indeed the nature of this faculty to 
follow a superior guide, to be drawn by the intel- 
lect; but then it was drawn, as a triumphant cha- 
riot, which at the same time both follows and tri- 
umphs ; while it obeyed this it commanded the 
other faculties. It was subordinate, not enslaved 



FROM DR. SOUTH. 



195 



to the understanding : not as a servant to a master, 
but as a queen to her king ; who both acknow- 
ledges a subjection, and yet retains a majesty. 

LOVE. 

This is the great instrument and engine 
of nature, the bond and cement of society, the 
spring and spirit of the universe. It is of that 
active, restless nature, that it must of necessity 
exert itself : and like the fire, to which it is so 
often compared, it is not a free agent to choose 
whither it will heat or no a but it streams forth 
by natural results, and unavoidable emanations, 
so that it will fasten upon an inferior, unsuitable 
object, rather than none at all.* The soul may 
sooner leave off to subsist, than to love ; and 
like the vine, it whithers and dies, if it has 
nothing to embrace. Now this affection in the 
state of innocence was happily pitched upon its 
right object; it flamed up in direct fervors of de- 
votion to God, and in collateral emissions of cha- 

* Bacon in his Essay of Goodness of Nature, says, " The 
inclination to goodness is imprinted deeply in the nature of 
man, insomuch, that if it issue not towards men, it will take 
unto other living creatures; as it is seen in the Turks, a 
cruel people, who nevertheless are kind to beasts, and give 
alms to dogs and birds ; insomuch, as Busbechius reporteth 
a Christian boy in Constantinople had like to have been 
stoned for gagging in a waggishness a long-billed fowl. 



196 



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rity to its neighbour. It was a vestal and a vir- 
gin fire, and differed as much from that which 
usually passes by this name now-a-days, as the 
vital heat from the burning of a fever. 

HATRED. 

No rancour, no hatred of our brother : an inno- 
cent nature could hate nothing that was innocent, 
In a word, so great is the commutation, that the 
soul then hated only that, which now only it loves,, 
i. e, sin* 

ANGER. 

Anger then was, like the sword of Justice, keen, 
but innocent and righteous. It did not act like 
fury, and then call it self-zeal. It always espoused 
God's honour : and never kindled upon anything 
but in order to a sacrifice. It sparkled like the 
coal upon the altar, with the fervours of piety, the 
heats of devotion, the sallies and vibrations cf an 
harmless activity.* 

JOY. 

In the next place, for the lightsome passion of 
joy. It was not that which now often usurps this 
name ; that trivial, vanishing, superficial thing, 
that only gilds the apprehension, and plays upon 
the surface of the soul. It was not the mere crack- 
ling of thorns, a sudden blaze of the spirits, the exul- 

* Ante 53. 



FROM DR. SOUTH. 



197 



tation of a tickled fancy or a pleased appetite. 
Joy was then a masculine and a severe thing : 
the recreation of the judgment, the jubilee of rea- 
son. It was the result of a real good suitably ap- 
plied. It commenced upon the solidities of truth 
and the substance of fruition. It did not run out 
in voice or undecent eruptions, but filled the soul, 
as God does the universe, silently and without 
noise. 

SORROW. 

And, on the other side, for sorrow. Had any 
loss or disaster, made but room for grief, it would 
have moved according to the severe allowances of 
prudence, and the proportions of the provocation. 
It would not have sallied out into complaint or 
loudness, nor spread itself upon the face and writ 
sad stories upon the forehead. No wringing of the 
hands ; knocking the breast, or wishing one's-self 
unborn ; all which are but the ceremonies of sor- 
row, the pomp and ostentation of an effeminate 
grief: which speak not so much the greatness of 
the misery, as the smallness of the mind. Sorrow 
then would have been as silent as thought, as se- 
vere as philosophy. It would have rested in in- 
ward senses, tacit dislikes ; and the whole scene 
of it been transacted in sad and silent reflections.* 



* See Ante 12. 



198 



SELECTIONS 



FEAR. 

It is now indeed an unhappiness, the disease of 
the soul ; it flies from a shadow, and makes more 
dangers than it avoids: it weakens the judgment 
and betrays the succours of reason. It was then 
the instrument of caution, not of anxiety ; a guard 
and not a torment to the breast. It fixed upon 
him who is only to be feared — God : and yet with 
a filial fear, which at the same time both fears 
and loves. It was awe without amazement, dread 
without distraction. There was then a beauty 
even in its very paleness. It was the colour of 
devotion, giving a lustre to reverence and a gloss 
to humility.* 

THE BODY. 

Adam was no less glorious in his externals ; he 
had a beautiful body, as well as an immortal soul. 
The w T hole compound was like a svell built temple, 
stately without, and sacred within. f 

* See Ante 92. 

* MINUTE ANALYSIS OF THE SERMON. 
t L Iq General. 

1. The Understand- ( 1. Speculative 
ing. 




2. The Will. 

3. The Passions. 



Practical. 




2. Body. 



FROM DR.. SOUTH. 



199 



GRATITUDE AND INGRATITUDE. 

Gratitude is properly a virtue, disposing the 
mind to an inward sense and an outward ac- 
knowledgment of a benefit received, together with 
a readiness to return the same, or the like, as the 
occasions of the doer of it shall require, and the 
abilities of the receiver extend to. David in the 
overflowing sense of God's goodness to him cries 
out in the 116 Psalm, verse 12, "What shall I 
render unto the Lord for all his benefits towards 
me V 9 So the grateful person pressed down upon 
the apprehension of any great kindness done him, 
eases his burthened mind a little by such expostu- 
lations with himself as these : " What shall I do 
for such a friend, for such a patron, who has so 
frankly, so generously, so unconstrainedly, relieved 
me in such a distress ; supported me against such 
an enemy ; supplied, cherished, and upheld me, 
when relations would not know me, or at least 
could not help me ; and, in a word, has prevented 
my desires, and outdone my necessities V 9 * Ingra* 

* I subjoin a specimen of " GRATITUDE," as taught by 
the Moralist, the Historian, and the Poet. 

THE MORALIST. 
Examples of ingratitude check and discourage voluntary 
beneficence : and in this the mischief of ingratitude consists. 
Nor is the mischief small ; for after all is done that can be 
done, by prescribing general rules of justice, and enforcing 



200 SELECTIONS 

titude is an insensibility of kindnesses received. 

the ooservation of them by penalties or compulsion, much 
muse be leu to those omces of kindness, which men remain 
a: liberty to exert or withhold. — Pulei's Mcral P'<.ik>cphy, 234, 

THE HISTORIAN. 

The father of Cains Teranius had been proscribed by the 
triumvirate, Caiui Teranius, coming over to the interests of 
that party, liscovered to the orHcers, who were in pursuit of 
his father's life, the place where he concealed himself, and 
gave them withal a description, by which they might distin- 
guish his person, when they found him. The old man more 
anxious for the safety and fortunes of his sou. than about the 
little thai might remain of his own life, began immediately 
to enquire of the officers who seized him, whether his son 
were well, whether he had done his duty to the satisfaction 
of his generals. " Tnat son/' replied one of the officers, 
so to thy affections, betrayed thee to us ; by ins in- 
formation thou art apprehended, and dies:.*' The orHcer 
with this struck a poniard to his heart ; and the unhappy 
parent fell, not so much affected by his fate, as by the means 
to which he owed it. — T:ii. S. 

THE POET. 
The bridegroom may forget his bride 

Was made his wedded wife yestreen : 
The monarch may forget his crown 

Which on his head an hour has been ; 
The mother may forget her child 

Wha' smiles sae sweetly on her knee. 
But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, 

And all that thou hast done for me. Burns. 



FROM DR. SOUTH. 



201 



without any endeavour either to acknowledge or 
repay them. Ingratitude sits on its throne, with 
pride at its right hand and cruelty at its left, worthy 
supporters of such a state. You may rest upon 
this as a proposition of an eternal unfailing truth, 
that there neither is, nor ever was any person re- 
markably ungrateful, who was not also insufferably 
proud ; nor, convertibly, any one proud, who was 
not equally ungrateful. For as snakes breed in 
dunghills not singly, but in knots, so in such base 
noisome hearts, you shall ever see pride and ingra- 
titude indi visibly wreathed, and twisted together. 
Ingratitude overlooks all kindnesses, but it is, be* 
cause pride makes it carry its head so high. Ingra- 
titude is too base to return a kindness, and too 
proud to regard it ; much like the tops of moun- 
tains, barren indeed, but yet lofty ; they produce 
nothing, they feed nobody, they clothe nobody, 
yet are high and stately, and look down upon all 
the world about them. Ingratitude indeed put the 
poniard into Brutus's hand, but it was want of 
compassion which thurst it into Csesar's heart. 
Friendship consists properly in mutual offices, and 
a generous strife in alternate acts of kindness. 
But he who does a kindness to an ungrateful per- 
son, sets his seal to a flint, and sows his seed upon 
the sand : upon the former he makes no impression^ 



202 



SELECTIONS 



and from the latter he finds no production. The 
only voice of ingratitude, is. give, give; but when 
the gift is cnce received, then, like the swine at 
his trough, it is silent and insatiable. In a word, 
the ungrateful person is a monster, which is all 
throat and belly ; a kind of thoroughfare or com- 
mon-shore, for the good things of the world to 
pass into; and of whom, in respect of all kind- 
nesses conferred on him, may be verified that ob- 
servation of the lion's den ; before which appeared 
the foot-steps of many that had gene in thither, 
but no prints of any that evercame out thence. 



COVETOUSNESS. 

Of covetousness vre may truly say, that it makes 
both the Alpha and Omega in the devil's alpha- 
bet, and that it is the first vice in corrupt nature 
which moves, and the last which dies. For 
look npon any infant, and as soon as it can 
but move a hand, we shall see it reaching out 
after something or other which it should not 
have ; and he who does not know it to be the 
proper and peculiar sin of old age, seems himself 
to have the dotage of that age upon him, whether 
he has the years or no. 

The covetous person lives as if the world were 



FROM DR. SOUTH. 



203 



made altogether for him, and not he for the world? 
to take in every thing, and to part with nothing. 
Charity is accounted no grace with him, nor 
gratitude any virtue. The cries of the poor never 
enter into his ears ; or if they do, he has always 
one ear readier to let them out than the other to 
take them in. In a word, by his rapines and 
extortions, he is always for making as many poor 
as he can, but for relieving none, whom he either 
finds or makes so. So that it is a question, 
whether his heart be harder, or his fist closer. In 
a word, he is a pest and a monster : greedier than 
the sea, and barrenner than the shore. 



SELF DECEPTION. 
From the beginning of the world, to this day, 
there was never any great villainy acted by men, 
but it was in the strength of some great fallacy 
put upon their minds by a false representation of 
evil for good, or good for evil. Is a man impo- 
verished and undone by the purchase of an estate ? 
why; it is, because he bought an imposture; 
payed down his money for a lie, and by the help 
of the best and ablest counsel (forsooth) that could 
be had, took a bad title for a good. Is a man un- 



204 SELECTIONS 

fortunate in marriage? still it is, because he was 
deceived, and put his neck into the snare, before 
he put it into the yoke, and so took that for virtue 
and affection, which was nothing but vice in a dis- 
guise, and a devilish humour under a demure look. 
Is he again unhappy and calamitous in his friend- 
ships ? why : in this also, it is because he built 
upon the air and trod upon a quicksand, and 
took that for kindness and sincerity which was 
only malice and design. 

KNOWLEDGE OF GOOD AND EVIL. 

The natural inability of most men to judge 
exactly of things, makes it very difficult for them 
to discern the real good and evil of what comes 
before them, to consider and weigh circum- 
stances, to scatter and look through the mists of 
error, and so separate appearances from reality. 
For the greater part of mankind is but slow and 
dull of apprehension ; and therefore in many cases 
under a necessity of seeing with other men's 
eyes, and judging with other men's understand- 
ings. To which their want of judging or discern- 
ing abilities, we may add also their want of lei- 
sure and opportunity to apply their minds to 
v<uch a serious and attent consideration, as may 



FROM DR. SOUTH. 



205 



let them into a full discovery of the true goodness 
and evil of things, which are qualities which sel- 
dom display themselves to the first view : There 
must be leisure and retirement, solitude and a se- 
questration of man's self from the noise and toil 
of the world ; for truth scorns to be seen by eyes 
too much fixed upon inferior objects. It lies too 
deep to be fetched up with the plough, and too 
close to be beaten out with the hammer. It dwells 
not in shops or workhouses; nor till the late age 
was it ever known, that any one served seven years 
to a smith or a tailor, that he might at the end 
thereof, proceed master of any other arts, but such 
as those trades taught him : and much less that 
he should commence doctor or divine from the 
shopboard, or the anvil ; or from whistling to a 
team, come to preach to a congregation. These 
were the peculiar, extraordinary privileges of the 
late blessed times of light and inspiration : other- 
wise nature will still hold on its old course, never 
doing any thing which is considerable without the 
assistance of its two great helps — art and industry. 
But above all, the knowledge of what is good and 
what is evil, what ought and what ought not to 
be done in the several offices and relations of life, 
is a thing too large to be compassed, and too hard 



•206 



SELECTIONS 



fee be mastered, without brains and study, parts, 
and contemplation.* 



* Such were the sentiments of South, Shakespeare in 
Troilus and Cressida, says, 

Paris, and Troilus, you have both said well : 
And on the cause and question now in hand 
Have gloz'd, but superficially; not much 
Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought 
Unfit to hear moral philosophy : 
The reasons you allege, do more conduce 
To the hot passion of distemper d blood, 
Than to make up a free determination 
'Twixt right and wrong ; for pleasure and revenge, 
Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice 
Of any true decision. 
Lord Bacon, in stating the objections made by divines to 
the advancement of learning says, M They urge that know- 
ledge is of the nature and number of those things, which are 
to be accepted with great limitation and caution : that the 
aspiring to overmuch knowledge, was the original tempta- 
tion and sin, whereupon ensued the fall of man. :> To which 
Lord Bacon answers, u the divines do not observe and con- 
sider, that it was not that pure and primitive knowledge of 
nature, by the light whereof man did give names to other 
creatures in paradise, as they were brought before him, ac- 
cording to their proprieties, which gave the occasion to the 
fall ; but it was that proud knowledge of good and evil, with 
an intent to shake off God and to give law unto himself. 
So too, in his tract on education, he says " Is it not a wise 



FROM DR. SOUTH. 



207 



IGNORANCE IN POWER.* 

We know how great an absurdity our Saviour 
accounted it, for the blind to lead the blind ; and 
to put him that cannot so much as see, to dis- 
charge the office of a watch. Nothing more ex- 
poses to contempt than ignorance. When Samp- 
son's eyes were out, of a public magistrate 



opinion of Aristotle and worthy to be regarded : That young 
men are no fit auditors of Moral philosophy, because the 
boiling heat of their affections is not yet settled, nor attem- 
pered with time and experience. And to speak truth, doth 
it not hereof come that those excellent books and discourses 
of ancient writers, (whereby they have persuaded unto vir- 
tue most effectually ; representing as well her stately ma- 
jesty to the eyes of the world, as exposing to scorn popular 
opinions in disgrace of virtue, attired as it were, in their pa- 
rasite coats) are of so little effect towards honesty of life and 
the reformation of corrupt manners ; because they use not 
to be read and rovolved by men mature in years and judg- 
ment, but are left and confined only to boys and beginners. 
But is it not true also that young men are much less fit au- 
ditors of policy than morality, till they have been thoroughly 
seasoned with religion and the knowledge of manners and 
duties ; lest their judgments be corrupted and made apt to 
think that there are no moral differences true and solid of 
things ; but that all is to be valued according to utility and 
fortune." 

* Vol. i. 258. 



208 



SELECTIONS 



he was made a public sport. And when Eli was 
blind, we know how well he governed his sons, 
and how well they governed the church under him. 
But now the blindness of the understanding is 
greater and more scandalous : especially in such 
a seeing age as ours ; in which the very knowledge 
of former times, passes but for ignorance in a better 
dress ; an age that flies at all learning, and en- 
quires into every thing, but especially into faults 
and defects. Ignorance, indeed, so far as it may 
be resolved into natural inability, is, as to men, at 
least, inculpable, and consequently not the object 
of scorn, but pity ; but in a governor, it cannot be 
without the conjunction of the highest impudence; 
for who bid such an one aspire to teach and to 
govern. A blind man sitting in the chimney corner 
is pardonable enough, but sitting at the helm he is 
intolerable. If men will be ignorant and illiterate, 
let them be so in private, and to themselves, and 
not set their defects in an high place, to make 
them visible and conspicuous. If owls will not be 
hooted at, let them keep close within the tree, and 
not perch upon the upper boughs. Solomon built 
his temple with the tallest cedars ; and surely 
when God refused the defective and the maimed 
for sacrifice, we cannot think that he requires 



FROM DR. SOUTH. 



209 



them for the priesthood. When learning, abilities, 
and what is excellent in the world forsake the 
church, we may easily foretell its ruin without the 
gift of prophesy. And when ignorance succeeds 
in the place of learning, weakness in the room of 
judgment, we may be sure heresy and confusion 
will quickly come in the room of religion.* 

VICE IN POWER. " 
Every rebuke of vice comes, or should come, 
from the preacher's mouth, like a dart or arrow 
thrown by some mighty hand, which does execu- 
tion proportionably to the force or impulse it re- 
ceived from that which threw it ; so our Saviour's 
matchless virtue, free from the least tincture of 
any thing immoral, armed everyone of his reproofs 
with a piercing edge and an irresistible force. f 
We may easily guess with what impatience the 
world would have heard an incestuous Herod dis- 
coursing of chastity, a Judas condemning covetous- 
ness, or a Pharasee preaching against hypocrisy. £ 

THE EYE OF CONSCIENCE. 
That the eye of conscience may be always 
quick and lively, let constant use be sure to keep 
it constantly open, and thereby ready and pre- 
pared to admit and let in those heavenly beams 

* Vol. i. 258. f Vol. iv. 423. t See Proverbs, c. 29. 

P 



210 



SELECTIONS 



which are always streaming forth from God upon 
minds fitted to receive them. And to this purpose 
let a man fly from every thing which may leave 
either a foulness or a bias upon it ; let hirn dread 
every gross act of sin; for one great stab may as 
certainly and speedily destroy life as forty lesser 
wounds. Let him carry a jealous eye over every 
growing habit of sin ; let him keep aloof from all 
commerce and fellowship with any vitious and 
base affection, especially from all sensuality; let 
him keep himself untouched with the hellish, un- 
hallowed heats of lust and the noisome steams and 
exhalations of intemperance ; let him bear himself 
above that sordid and low thing, that utter con- 
tradiction to all greatness of mind — covetousness : 
let him disenslave himself from the pelf of the 
world, from that " amor sceleratus habendi;" lastly, 
let him learn so to look upon the honours, the 
pomp, and greatness of the world, as to look 
through them. Feels indeed are apt to be blown up 
by them and to sacrifice all for them : sometimes 
venturing their heads only to get a feather in their 
caps.* 

SENSUALITY .f 
The wicked and sensual part of the world are 
only concerned to find scope and room enough 
to wallow in ; if they can but have it, whence they 



* Vol. iii. 104. 



f See ante. p. 48. 



FROM DR. SOUTH. 



211 



have it troubles not their thoughts ; saying grace 
is no part of their meal ; they feed and grovel like 
swine under an oak, filling themselves with the 
mast, but never so much as looking up either to the 
bows that bore, or the hands that shook it down. 

THE PROSPERITY OF TOOLS. f 

Why the prosperity of fools proves destructive 
to them, is, because prosperity has a peculiar 
force to abate men's virtues, and to heighten 
their corruptions. Prosperity and ease upon an 

f Bacon, in his Essay on Adversity, says, — The virtue of 
prosperity is temperance, the virtue of adversity is fortitude, 
which in morals is the more heroical virtue. Prosperity is 
the blessing of the Old Testament, adversity is the blessing 
of the New, which carrieth the greater benediction, and the 
clearer revelation of God's favour. Yet even in the Old 
Tastament, if you listen to David's harp, you shall Jiear as 
many hearse-like airs as carols ; and the pencil of the Holy 
Ghost hath laboured more in describing the afflictions of 
Job than the felicities of Solomon. Prosperity is not without 
many fears and distastes ; and adversity is not without com- 
fort and hopes. We see in needle works and embroideries, 
it is more pleasing to have a lively work upon a sad and so- 
lemn ground, than to have a dark and melancholy work 
upon a lightsome ground ; judge therefore, of the pleasure of 
the heart by the pleasure of the eye. Certainly virtue is like 
precious odours, most fragrant when they are incensed, or 
crushed ; for prosperity doth best discover vice, but adversity 
doth best discover virtue. 



212 



SELECTIONS 



unsanctified impure heart, is like the sun-beams 
upon a dunghill, it raises many filthy, noisome ex- 
halations. The same soldiers, who in hard service 
and in the battle are in perfect subjection to their 
leaders, in peace and luxury are apt to mutiny and 
rebel. That corrupt affection which has lain, as it 
were dead and frozen in the midst of distracting bu- 
sinesses or under adversity, when the sun of pros- 
perity has shined upon it, then like a snake it pre- 
sently recovers its former strength and venom.* 

THE GLORY 01 THE CLERGY. 
God is the fountain of honour, and the conduit 
by which he conveys it to the sons of men, are 
virtues and generous practices. Some indeed 
may please and promise themselves high matters 
from full revenues, stately palaces, court-interests, 
and great dependances. But that which makes 
the clergy glorious, is to be knowing in their pro- 
fession, unspotted in their lives, active and labo- 
rious in their charges, bold and resolute in oppo- 
sing seducers, and daring to look vice in the face 
though never so potent and illustrious. And 
lastly, to be gentle, courteous, and compassionate 
to all. These are our robes, and our maces, our 
escutcheons and highest titles of honour. f 



* Mud walls swell when the sun shines upon them, 
f Vol. i. 264. 



BISHOP HALL. 

All that I can say for myself, is a desire of doing good ; 
which if it were as fervent in richer hearts, the church, 
which now we see comely, would then be glorious. This 
honest ambition hath carried me to neglect the fear of 
seeming prodigal of my little ; and, while I see others' 
talents rusting in the earth, hath drawn me to traffic with 
mine in public. 



BISHOP HALL. 



REAL AND APPARENT HAPPINESS. 
We pity the folly of the lark, which while it 
playeth with the feather and stoopeth to the glass 
is caught in the fowler's net ; and yet cannot see 
ourselves alike made fools by Satan : who, deluding 
us by the vain feathers and glasses of the world, 
suddenly enwrappeth us in his snares. We see 
not the nets indeed : it is too much that we shall 
feel thern, and that they are not so easily escaped 
after, as before avoided. O Lord keep thou mine 
eyes from beholding vanity. And, though mine 
eyes see it, let not my heart stoop to it, but loath 
it afar off. And, if I stoop at any time and be 
taken, set thou my soul at liberty, that I may say 
my soul is escaped, even as a bird out of the snare 
of the fowler; the snare is broken, and I am de- 
livered.* 



Cent. ii. 25. 



216 



SELECTIONS 



ORDER OF ATTAINING OBJECTS. 
I will account virtue the best riches, knowledge 
the next, riches the worst : and therefore will la- 
bour to be virtuous and learned, without condi- 
tion; as for riches, if they fall in my way, I refuse 
them not; but if not, I desire them not.* 



* Ibid. 44. 

Lord Bacon says, as for the true marshalling of men's 
pursuits towards their fortune, as they are more or less ma- 
terial, I hold them to stand thus ; first the amendment of 
their own minds ; for the remove of the impediments of the 
mind will sooner clear the passages of fortune, than the ob- 
taining fortune will remove the impediments of the mind. 
In the second place I set down wealth and means ; which I 
know most men would have placed first, because of the gene- 
ral use which it beareth towards all variety of occasions ; 
but that opinion I may condemn with like reason as Machi- 
aval doth that other, that monies were the sinews of the 
wars ; whereas saith he, the true sinews of the wars are the 
sinews of men's arms, that is, a valiant, populous, and mili- 
tary nation ; and he voucheth aptly the authority of Solon, 
who, when Croesus shewed him his treasury of gold, said to 
him, that if another came that had better iron, he would be 
master of his gold. In like manner it may be truly affirmed 
that it is not monies that are the sinews of fortune, but it is 
the sinews and steel of men's minds, wit, courage, audacity, 
resolution, temper, industry, and the like. In the third 
place, I set down reputation, because of the peremptory 



FROM BISHOP HALL, 



217 



IGNORANCE AND INTELLIGENCE. 
Tell a plain country man, that the sun, or some 
higher or lesser star is much bigger than his cart 
wheel ; or at least so many scores bigger than the 
whole earth ; he laughs thee to scorn, as affect- 
ing admiration with a learned untruth; yet the 
scholar, by the eye of reason, doth as plainly see 
and acknowledge this truth, as that his hand is 



tides and currents it hath ; which if they be not taken in 
their due time, are seldom recovered, it being extreme hard 
to play an after game of reputation. And lastly, 1 place ho- 
nour, which is more easily won by any of the other three, 
much more by all, than any of them can be purchased by 
honour. | 

He, in whom talents, genius, and principle are united, 
will have a firm mind, in whatever embarrassment he 
may be placed ; will look steadily at the most undefined 
shapes of difficulty and danger, of possible mistake or mis- 
chance ; nor will they appear to him more formidable than 
they, really are. For his attention is not distracted — he has but 
one business, and that is with the object before him. Nei- 
ther in general conduct nor in particular emergencies are 
his plans subservient to considerations of rewards, estate, or 
title ; these are not to have precedence in his thoughts, to 
govern his actions, but to follow in the train of his duty. 
Such men in ancient times, were Phocion, Epaminondas, and 
Philopoemon ; and such a man was Sir Philip Sidney, of 
whom it has been said, that he first taught this* country the 
majesty of honest dealing. — William Wordsworth. 



21S 



SELECTIONS 



bigger than his pen. What a thick mist, yea what 
a palpable and more than Egyptian darkness, 
doth the natural man live in ! what a world is there 
that he doth not see at all ! and how little doth 
he see in this, which is his proper element! there 
is no bodily thing, but the brute creatures see as 
well as he, and some of them better. As for his 
eye of reason, how dim is it in those things which 
are best fitted to it! what one thing is there in 
nature, which he doth perfectly know? what herb 
or flower, or worm that he treads on, is there 
whose true essence he knoweth ! no, not so much 
as what is in his own bosom; what it is, where it 
is. or whence it is, that gives being to himself. 
But. tor those things which concern the best world 
he doth cot so much as confusedly see them; 
neithei knoweth ^:.c:her they be. He sees no 
whit into the great and awful majesty of God. 
He discerns him not in all his creatures, filling 
the world with his infinite and glorious presence. 
He sees not his wise providence, overruling all 
things, disposing all casual events, ordering all 
sinful actions of men to his own glory.* As tra- 
vellers in a foreign country, make every sight a 
lesson ; so ought we in this our pilgrimage. Thou 
seest the heaven rolling above thine head, in a 



* Century ii Sg, 



FROM BISHOP HALL. 



219 



constant and immoveable motion; the stars so 
overlooking one another, that the greatest shew 
little, and the least greatest, all glorious ; the air 
full of the bottles of rain, or fleeces of snow, or 
divers forms of fiery exhalations; the sea, under 
one uniform face, full of strange and monstrous 
shapes beneath ; the earth so adorned with variety 
of plants, that thou canst not but tread on many 
at once with every foot ; besides the store of crea- 
tures that fly above it, walk upon it, live in it. 
Thou idle truant, dost thou learn nothing of so 
many masters 

THE HAPPY MAN, 
That hath learned to read himself more than all 
books ; and hath so taken out this lesson that he 
can never forget it : that knows the world, and 
cares not for it; that after many traverses of 
thoughts, is grown to know what he may trust to, 
and stands now equally armed for all events ; that 
hath got the mastery at home, so as he can cross 
his will without a mutiny, and so please it, that he 
makes it not a wanton: that in earthly things 
wishes no more than nature ; in spiritual, is ever 
graciously ambitious ; that for his condition, stands 
on his own feet, not needing to lean upon the 



* Art of Divine Meditation, cliap. iv. 



220 



SELECTIONS 



great ; and can so frame his thoughts to his estate, 
that when he hath least, he cannot want, because 
he is as free from desire, as superfluity ; that he 
hath seasonably broken the headstrong restiness 
of prosperity, and can now manage it at pleasure. 
Upon whom all smaller crosses light as hailstones 
upon a roof ; and for the greater calamities, he 
can take them as tributes of life, and tokens of 
love; and if his ship be tossed, yet is he sure his 
anchor is fast. If all the world were his, he could 
be no other than he is, no whit gladder of himself, 
no whit higher in his carriage, because he knows 
contentment is not in the things he hath, but in 
the mind that values them.* The powers of his re- 

* Its no in titles nor in rank ; 

Its no in wealth like Lon'on bank, 

To purchase peace and rest ; 
Its no in making muckle mair : 
Its no in books : its no in lear, 

To make us truly blest ; 
If happiness hae not her seat 
And centre in the breast, 
We may be wise, or rich, or gTeat, 
But never can be blest j 

Nae treasures, nor pleasures, 
Could make us happy lang ; 
The heart ay's the part ay, 
That makes us right or wrang. 

Burns, 



PROM BISHOP HALL. 



221 



solution can either multiply, or substract at plea- 
sure. He can make his cottage a manor, or a 

— In early youth among my native hills 
I knew a Scottish peasant who possessed 
A few small crofts of stone-encumbered ground ; 
Masses of every shape and size, that layl 
Scattered about beneath the mouldering walls 
Of a rough precipice ; and some apart, 
In quarters unobnoxious to such chance, 
As if the moon had showered them down in spite, 
But he repined not. Though the plough was scared 
By these obstructions, " round the shady stones 
A fertilizing moisture," said the swain, 
" Gathers, and is preserved ; and feeding dews 
"And damps, through all the droughty summer day* 
" From out their substance issuing, maintain 
" Herbage that never fails; no grass springs up 
[ "So green, so fresh, so plentiful, as mine V 

Excursion, 4to. 240. 
This truth then ought to be deeply printed in minds stu- 
dious of wisdom and their own content, that they bear their 
happiness or unhappiness within their breast ; and that all 
outward things have a right and a wrong handle : he that 
takes them by the right handle, finds them good ; he that 
takes them by the wrong indiscretely, finds them evil. Take 
a knife by the haft it will serve you, take it by the edge it 
will cut you. There is no good thing but is mingled with 
evil : There is no evil but some good enters into the compo- 
sition. The same truth holds, in all persons, actions, and 
events. Out of the worst a well composed mind endowed 



222 



SELECTIONS 



palace when he lists ; and his home-close a large 
dominion; his stained cloth, arrass ; his earth, 

with the grace of God, may extract good, with no other chy- 
mistry than piety, wisdom and serenity. It Jietb in us, as 
we incline our minds, to be pleased or displeased with most 
things of the world. One that hath fed his eyes with the 
rich prospect of delicate countries, as Lombardy, Anjou, 
where all the beauties and dainties of nature are assembled, 
will another tune take no less delight in a wild and rugged pros- 
pect of high bare mountains, and fifty stories of steep rocks, 
as about the grand Chartreuse, and the bottom of Ardennes, 
where the very horror contributes to the delectation. If I 
have been delighted to see the trees of my orchard, in the 
spring blossomed, in summer shady, in autumn hung with 
fruit : I will delight again, after the fall of the leaf, to see 
through my trees new prospects which the bushy boughs hid 
before ; and will be pleased with the sight of the snow can- 
died about the branches, as the flowers of the season, — Du 
Moulin. 

E'en winter bleak has charms to me 
'"When winds rave thro' the naked tree ; 
Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree 

Are hoary gray ; 
Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee, 
Darkening the day. 
c Burns. 
These symptoms of a rising reputation gave me encourage- 
ment, as I was ever more disposed to see the favourable than 
the unfavourable side of things, a turn of mind which it is 
more happy to possess, than to be born to an estate of ten 
thousand a year. — Hume's Life of Himself . 



FROM BISHOP HALL. 



223 



plate ; and can see state in the attendance of one 
servant : as one that hath learned a man's great- 

We are not here, as those angels, celestial powers and 
bodies, sun and moon, to finish our course without all offence, 
with such constancy, to continue for so many ages ; but sub- 
ject to such infirmities, miseries, interrupted, tossed and tum- 
bled up and down, carried about with every small blast, 
often molested and disquieted upon each slender occasion* 
uncertain, brittle ; and so is all that we trust unto. And he 
that knows not this, and is not armed to endure it, is not fit 
to live in this world (as one condoles our time) ; he knows 
not the condition of it, where with a reciprocal tye, pleasure 
and pain are still united, and succeed one another in a ring. 

Burton. 

Some look at the black clouds, others at the blue sky. 
Some look through the clouds. See number 126 of the World. 
Arachne collecting poison from the fairest flowers ; and Me- 
lissa gathering honey from every weed. 

THE FRENCH PEASANT. 
A peasant of the true French breed 

Was driving in a narrow road, 
A cart with but one sorry steed, 

And filled with onions, sav'ry load. 
Careless he trudged along before 

Singing a Gascon roundelay, 
Hard by there ran a whimpering hrook, 

The road hung shelving towards the brim, 
The spiteful wind th' advantage took, 

The wheels fly up, the onions swim. 
The peasant saw his favourite store 

At one rude blast all puffed awav, 



224 



SELECTIONS 



ness or baseness is in himself; and in this he may- 
even contest with the proud, that he thinks his 
own the best. Or if he must be outwardly great, 
he can but turn the other end of the glass, and 
make his stately manor a low and straight cot- 
tage ; and in all his costly furniture he can see 
not richness but use. He can see dross in the 
best metal, and earth through the best cloths; 
and in all his troop he can see himself his own 



How would an English clown have sworn, 

And cursed the day that he was born, &c. 
Our Frenchman acted quite as well, 

He stopped, and hardly stopped, his song, 
First raised the poney from his swoon ; 

Then stood a little while to view 
His onions floating up and down ; 

At last he shrugging cried " Parbleu 
II ne manqu' ici que de sel 

Pour faire du potage excellent." 

See the character of Croker in Goldsmith's Good-natured 
Man. See Goldsmith's Essay, 230. 

Be not over exquisite 
To cast the fashion of uncertain evils ; 
For grant they be so, while they rest unknown, 
What need a man forstall his date of grief, 
And run to meet what he would most avoid 1 
Or if they be but false alarms of fear, 
How bitter is such self delusion 1 Milton. 



FROM BISHOP HALL. 



225 



servant. He lives quietly at home,* out of the 
noise of the world, f and loves to enjoy himself 

* I knew a man that had health and riches and several 
houses, ail beautiful and ready furnished, and would often 
trouble himself and family to be removing from one house to 
another : and, being asked by a friend " Why he removed 
so often from one house to another?" replied, " It was to 
find content in some one of them." Content, said his friend, 
ever dwells in a meek and quiet soul. — Walton's Angler. 

f The happiness of light minds is always in the next 
room ; its eyes are in the ends of the earth. 

The Philosopher carries with him into the world the tem- 
per of the cloister, and preserves the fear of doing evil, while 
he is impelled by the zeal of doing good. He is rich or poor, 
without pride in riches, or discontent in poverty ; he par- 
takes the pleasures of sense with temperance, and enjoys 
the distinctions of honor with moderation. He passes un- 
dented through a polluted world, and, amidst all the vicissi- 
tudes of good and evil, has his heart fixed only where true 
joys are to be found. 

Newton etoit doux, tranquille, modeste, simple, affable, 
toujours de niveau avec tout le monde, ne se dementit point 
pendant le cours de sa longue et brillante carriere. 11 an- 
roit mieux aime etre inconnu, que de voir le calme de sa vie 
trouble par ees orages litteraires, que l'esprit et la science 
attirent a eeux qui cherchent trop la gloire. Je me repro- 
cherois, disoit-il, mon imprudence, de perdre une chose 
aussireelle que le repos,pour courir apres une ombre. 

Si Descartes eut quelques foiblesses de Phumanite, il eut 
aussi les principales vertus du philosophe. Sobre, tempe- 

Q 



226 



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always, and sometimes his friend, and hath as full 
scope to his thoughts as to his eyes. He walks 



ran:, ami de la liberie et de la retraite, reconnoissant, libe- 
ral, sensible a rami tie. tendre, compatissant, il ne connoissoit 
que les passions deuces et savoit resister aux vioientes. 
Quand on me fait offense, disoit-il, je tache deleter mon ame 
r. Hani, cm Vcfeme ne parti en ne pa.sjuscu'aeUe. L* ambition 
ne Fagita pas plus que la vengeance. II disoit, comme 
Ovide : T'itre cache', e'eti vivre heureui. 

The Caliph of Bagdad, fatigued with hunting, separated 
himself from the company, to sleep on the green bank of a 
rivulet, which seemed by its gentle murmuring to invite 
him to repose. — He awoke suddenly in the most acute pain. 
In a few days after his return to the palace, his com- 
plexion became pale and sickly, his eyes grew dim, his limbs 
swelled, and his appetite failed, The physicians employed 
all their art in vain : The Angel of Death stood ready 
to summon him. A stranger at that time in Bagdad of 
great skill in medicine, was summoned to the palace. The 
moment he looked upon the eyes of the Caliph, he said, "It 
is the sting of a lizard ;" and, taking a small phial from his 
pocket, gave the Caliph a few drops mixed with water. 
After the struggle of an hour his patient became composed : 
on the next day toe delirium left him : and, before the moon 
had performed its revolution, his colour returned and the 
heat of youth glowed again in his veins. "Henceforth 
Alchaman,'' said the Caliph, " the palace of Bagdad is your 
home. My treasury is open to you. The honors of my king- 
dom are at your disposal.'' — <l Generous Monarch/' said 



FROM BISHOP HALL. 



227 



ever even in the midway betwixt hopes and fears, 
resolved to fear nothing but God, to hope for no- 
thing but that which he must have. He hath a 
wise and virtuous mind in a serviceable body ; 
which, that better part affects as a present servant 
and a future companion, so cherishing his flesh, 
as one that would scorn to be all flesh. He hath 
no enemies ; not for that all love him, but because 
he knows to make a gain of malice.* He is not 
so engaged to any earthly thing that they two 

Alchaman, " to your majesty's care in action the public 
welfare is entrusted, my utility consists in contemplation. 
Permit me to return to my home, where I endeavour to con- 
verse with truth and wisdom. Pardon me, Sire, for saying 
that freedom of mind is the only empire a philosopher can 
covet ; not from sloth, but from a conviction that the life and 
faculties of man, at the best but short and limited, cannot 
be more usefully employed than in researches which may en- 
lighten the world and benefit future ages : and, as a know- 
ledge of the properties of a few drops of fluid has enabled 
me to restore a beloved monarch to his people, may I retire 
with this grateful recollection, confirmed in my opinion, 
that all truths partake of one common essence, and, like 
drops of rain, which fall separately into the river, mix them- 
selves at once with the stream, and strengthen the general 
current." 

* " Did a person," said the Abbe de Raunci, " but know 
the value of an enemy, he would purchase him with pure 
gold." 



228 



SELECTIONS 



cannot part on even terms ;* there is neither laugh- 
ter in their meeting, nor in their shaking hands, 
tears. He keeps ever the best company, the God 
of spirits, and the spirits of that God, whom he 
entertains continually in an awful familiarity, not 
being hindered either with too much light, or with 
none at all. His conscience and his hands are 
friends, and (what devil soever tempt him) will 
not fall out That divine part goes ever uprightly 
and freely, not stooping under the burthen of a 
willing sin, not fettered with the gyves of unjust 
scruples; he would not, if he could, run away 
from himself, or from God ; not caring from whom 
he is hid so he may look these two in the face. 
Censures and applauses are passengers to him, 
not guests ; his ear is their thoroughfare, not 
their harbour; he hath learned to fetch both his 
counsel and his sentence from his own breast. 
He doth not lay weight upon his own shoulders, as 
one that loves to torment himself with the honour 
of much employment; but as he makes w T ork 
his game, so doth he not list to make himself 
work. His strife is ever to redeem and not to 
spend time. It is his trade to do good, and to 
think of it his recreation. He hath hands enough 
for himself and others, which are ever stretched 



* See Ante. p. 11. 



FROM BISHOP HALL. 



229 



forth for beneficence, not for need. He walks 
cheerfully the way that God hath chalked, and 
never wishes it more wide, or more smooth. Those 
very temptations whereby he is foiled, strengthen 
him ; he comes forth crowned, and triumphing 
out of the spiritual battles, and those scars that 
he hath, make him beautiful. His soul is every 
day dilated to receive that God in whom he is, 
and hath attained to love himself for God, and 
God for his own sake. His eyes stick so fast in 
heaven, that no earthly object can remove them ; 
yea, his whole self is there before his time ; and 
sees with Stephen, and hears with Paul, and en- 
joys with Lazarus, the glory that he shall have ; 
and takes possession before hand of his room 
amongst the saints ; and these heavenly content- 
ments have so taken him up, that now he looks 
down displeasedly upon the earth, as the regions 
of his sorrow and banishment ; yet joying more in 
hope than troubled with the sense of evil, he holds 
it no great matter to live, and greatest business to 
die ; and is so well acquainted with his last guest, 
that he fears no unkind ness from him; neither 
makes he any other of dying, than of walking 
home when he is abroad, or of going to bed when 
he is weary of the day. He is well provided for 
both worlds, and is sure of peace here, of glory 



230 



SELECTIONS 



hereafter ; and therefore hath a light heart, and a 
cheerful face. All his fellow-creatures rejoice to 
serve him ; his betters, the angels, love to observe 
him ; God himself takes pleasure to converse with 
him ; and hath sainted him before his death, and 
in his death crowned him. 

THE HYPOCRITE. 
An hypocrite is the worst kind of player, by so 
much that he acts the better part ; which hath al- 
ways two faces, oft-times two hearts; that can 
compose his forehead to sadness and gravity, 
while he bids his heart be wanton and careless 
within, and (in the mean time) laughs within him- 
self to think how smoothly he hath cosened the 
beholder. In whose silent face are written the 
characters of religion, which his tongue and ges- 
tures pronounce, but his hands recant. That 
hath a clean face and garment, with a foul soul ; 
whose mouth belies his heart, and his fingers bely 
his mouth. Walking early up into the city he 
turns into the great church, and salutes one of 
the pillars on one knee, worshipping that God 
which at home he cares not for, while his eye is 
fixed on some window or some passenger, and his 
heart knows not whither his lips go. He rises, 



FROM BISHOP HALL. 



231 



and, looking about with admiration, complains of 
our frozen charity, commends the ancient. At 
church he will ever sit where he may be seen best, 
and in the midst of the sermon pulls out his tables 
in haste, as if he feared to lose that note, when he 
writes either his forgotten errand, or nothing. 
Then he turns his bible with a noise, to seek an 
omitted quotation, and folds the leaf as if he had 
found it, and asks aloud the name of the preacher, 
and repeats it, whom he publicly salutes, thanks, 
praises in an honest mouth. He can command 
tears when he speaks of his youth, indeed, because 
it is past, not because it was sinful ; himself is 
now better, but the times are worse. All other 
sins he reckons up with detestation, while he loves 
and hides his darling in his bosom ; all his speech 
returns to himself, and every occurrent draws in 
a story to his own praise. When he should give, 
he looks about him, and says, Who sees me? no 
alms nor prayers fall from him without a witness ; 
belike lest God should deny that he hath received 
them; and when he hath done (lest the world 
should not know it) his own mouth is his trumpet 
to proclaim it. With the superfluity of his usury 
he builds an hospital, and harbours them whom 
his extortion hath spoiled ; so when he makes 
many beggars, he keeps some. He turneth all 



232 



SELECTIONS 



gnats into camels, and cares not to undo the world 
for a circumstance. Flesh on a Friday is more 
abominable to him than his neighbour's bed; he 
abhors more not to uncover at the name of Jesus 
than to swear by the name of God. When a 
rimer reads his poem to him, he begs a copy, and 
persuades the press. There is nothing that he dis- 
likes in presence, that in absence he censures not. 
He comes to the sick bed of his stepmother and 
weeps, when he secretly fears her recovery. He 
greets his friend in the street with a clear coun- 
tenance, so fast a closure, that the other thinks 
he reads his heart in his face ; and shakes hands 
with an indefinite invitation of When will you 
come? and when his back is turned, joys that he 
is so well rid of a guest ; yet if that guest visit 
him uufeared, he counterfeits a smiling welcome 
and excuses his cheer, when closely he frowns on 
his wife for too much. He shews well, and says 
well, and himself is the worst thing he hath. In 
brief, he is the stranger's saint, the neighbour's dis- 
ease, the blot of goodness, a rotten stick in a dark 
night, the poppy in a cornfield, an ill-tempered 
candle with a great snuff, that in going out smells 
ill ; an angel abroad, a devil at home ; and worse 
when an angel, than when a devil. 



FROM BISHOP HALL. 



233 



DAVID * 

David had lived obscurely in his father's house; 
his only care and ambition was the welfare of the 

* In the preface to an edition of Home on the Psalms by 
the Rev. Edward Irving', there is a character of David, from 
which the following is extracted — 

" Now, as the apostle, in writing to the Hebrews, con- 
cerning the priesthood of Christ, calls upon them to con- 
sider Melehizedek his solitary majesty, and singular condi- 
tion, and remarkable honor ; so call we upon the church 
to consider David, the son of Jesse, his unexampled accu- 
mulation of gifts, his wonderful variety of conditions, his spi- 
ritual riches and his spiritual desolation, and the multifa- 
rious contingencies of his life ; with his faculty, his unrival- 
led faculty, of expressing the emotions of his soul, under all 
the days of brightness and days of darkness which passed 
over his head. For thereby shall the church understand 
how this the lawgiver of her devotion was prepared by God 
for the work which he accomplished, and how it hath hap- 
pened that one man should have brought forth that vast va- 
riety of experience, in which every soul rejoiceth to find 
itself reflected. There never was a specimen of manhood, 
so rich and ennobled as David, the son of Jesse, whom other 
saints haply may have equalled in single features of his cha- 
racter, but such a combination of manly, heroic qualities, 
such a flush of generous godlike excellencies, hath never yet 
been seen embodied in a single man. His psalms, to speak 
as a man, do place him in the highest rank of lyrical poets, 
as they set him above all the inspired writers of the old Tes- 



234 



SELECTIONS 



flock he tended ; and now while his father and 
his brothers neglected him as fit for nothing but 

tament, — equalling in sublimity the flights of Isaiah himself, 
and revealing the cloudy mystery of Ezekiel ; but in love of 
country, and glorying in its heavenly patronage, surpassing 
them all. And where are there such expressions of the va- 
ried conditions into which human nature is cast by the acci- 
dents of providence, such delineations of deep affliction and 
inconsolable anguish, and anon such joy, such rapture, such 
revelry of emotion, in the worship of the living God ! such 
invocations to all nature, animate and inanimate, such sum- 
monings of the hidden powers of harmony, and of the breath- 
ing instruments of melody ! single hymns of this poet would 
have conferred immortality upon any mortal, and borne down 
his name as one of the most favored of the sons of men. 

But it is not the writings of the man, which strike us with 
such wonder, as the actions and events of his wonderful his- 
tory. He was a hero without a peer, bold in battle, and 
generous in victory ; by distress or by triumph never over- 
come. Though hunted like a wild beast among the moun- 
tains, and forsaken like a pelican in the wilderness, by 
the country whose armies he had delivered from disgrace, and 
by the monarch whose daughter he had won — whose son he 
had bound to him with cords of brotherly love, and whose 
own soul he was wont to charm with the sacredness of his 
minstrelsy — he never indulged malice or revenge against his 
unnatural enemies. Twice, at the peril of his life, he brought 
his blood hunter within his power, and twice he spared him 
and would not be persuaded to injure a hair upon his head, 
—who, when he fell in his high plans, was lamented over 



FROM BISHOP HALL. 



235 



the field, he is talked of at the court. Some of 
SamFs followers had been at Jesse's house, and 

by David, with the bitterness of a son, and his death avenged 
upon the sacriligious man who had lifted his sword against 
the lords anointed. In friendship and love, and also in do- 
mestic affection, he was not less notable than in heroical en- 
dowments, and in piety to God he was most remakable of all. 
He had to flee from his bedchamber in the dead of night, his 
friendly meetings had to be concerted upon the perilous edge 
of captivity and death, his food he had to seek at the risk of 
sacrilege, for a refuge from death to cast himself upon the 
people of Gath to counterfeit idiocy, and become the laughing 
stock of his enemies. And who shall tell of his hidings in the 
cave of Adullam, and of his wanderings in the wilderness 
of Ziph : in the weariness of which he had power to stand 
before his armed enemy with all his host, and by the genero- 
sity of his deeds, and the affectionate language which flowed 
from his lips, to melt into childlike weeping the obdurate 
spirit of king Saul, which had the nerve to evoke the spirits 
of the dead ! King David was a man extreme in all his ex- 
cellencies, — a man of the highest strain, whether for counsel, 
for expression, or for action, in peace and in war, in exile 
and on the throne. That such a warm and ebullient spirit 
should have given way before the tide of its affections, we 
wonder not. We rather wonder that tried by such extremes 
his mighty spirit should not often have burst controul, and 
enacted right forward the conqueror, the avenger and the 
destroyer. But God, who anointed him from his childhood, 
had given him store of the best natural and inspired gifts, 
which preserved him from sinking under the long delay of 
his promised crown, and kept him from contracting any of 



SELECTIONS 



taken notice of David's skill ; and now, that harp 
which he practised for his private recreation shall 



the craft or cruelty of a hunted, persecuted man. And adver- 
sity did but bring out the splendour of his character, which 
might have slumbered like the fire in the flint, or the pre- 
cious metal in the dull and earthly ore. 

Eut to conceive aright of the gracefulness and strength of 
king David's character, we must draw him into comparison 
with men similarly conditioned, and then we shall see how 
vain the world is to cope with him. Conceive a man 
who had saved his country, and clothed himself with grace- 
fulness and renown in the sight of all the people by the chi- 
valry of his deeds, won for himself intermarriage with the royal 
line, and by unction of the lord's prophet been set apart to 
the throne itself ; such a one conceive driven with fury from 
house and hold, and through tedious years, deserted of every 
stay but heaven, with no soothing sympathies of quiet life, 
harassed for ever between famine and the edge of the sword, 
and kept in savage holds and deserts ; and tell us, in the 
annals of men, of one so disappointed, so bereaved and 
straitened, maintaining not fortitude alone, but sweet com- 
posure and a heavenly frame of soul, inditing praise to no 
avenging deity, and couching songs in no revengeful mood, 
according with his outcast and unsocial life ; but inditing 
praises to the God of mercy and songs which soar into the 
third heavens of the soul; not indeed without the burst of sor- 
row and the complaint of solitariness, and prophetic warnings 
to his blood-thirsty foes, but ever closing in sweet preludes 
of good to come, and desire of present contentment. Find 
us such a one in the annals of men, and we yield the argu- 



FROM BISHOP HALL, 



237 



make him of a shepherd a courtier. The music 
that he meant only to himself and his sheep brings 
him before kings. 

ment of this controversy. Men there have been driven 
before the wrath of kings to wander outlaws and exiles, 
whose musings and actings have been recorded to us in the 
minstrelsy of our native land. Draw these songs of the exile 
into comparison with the psalms of David, and know the 
spirit of the man after God's own heart ; the stern defiance 
of the one, with the tranquil acquiescence of the other ; the 
deep despair of the one, with the rooted trust of the other ; 
the vindictive imprecations of the one, with the tender regret 
and forgiveness of the other. Show us an outlaw who never 
spoiled the country which had forsaken him, nor turned 
his hand in self-defence or revenge upon his persecutors, 
who used the vigour of his arm only against the enemies of 
his country, yea lifted up his arm in behalf of that mother, 
which had cast her son, crowned with salvation, away from 
her bosom, and held him at a distance from her love, and 
raised the rest of her family to hunt him to the death ; — in 
the defence of that thankless, unnatural mother country, 
find us such a repudiated son lifting up his arm, and spend- 
ing its vigour in smiting and utterly discomfiting her ene- 
mies, whose spoils he kept not to enrich himself and his 
ruthless followers, but dispensed to comfort her and her 
happier children. Find us among the Themistocles, and 
Coriolani, and Cromwells and Napoleons of the earth such 
a man, and we will yield the argument of this controversy 
which we maintain for the peerless son of Jesse. 

But we fear that not such another man is to be found in 



238 SELECTIONS 

Now David hath leisure to return to Bethlehem, 
The glory of the court cannot transport him to 

the recorded annals of men. Though he rose from the pea- 
santry to fill the throne, and enlarge the borders of his na- 
tive land, he gave himself neither to ambition or to glory: 
though more basely treated than the sons of men, he gave 
not place to despondency or revenge : though of the highest 
genius in poetry, he gave it not licence to sing his own deeds, 
nor to depict loose and licentious life, nor to ennoble any 
worldly sentiment or attachment of the human heart, how- 
ever virtuous or honourable, but constrained it to sing the 
praises of God, and the victories of the right hand of the 
Lord of hosts, and his admirable works which are of old 
from everlasting:. And he hath dressed out religion in such 
a rich and beautiful garment of divine poesy as beseemeth 
her majesty, in which, being arrayed, she can stand up be- 
fore the eyes even of her enemies, in more royal state than 
any personification of love, or glory, or pleasure, to which 
highly gifted mortals have devoted their genius. 

The force of Lis character was vast, and the scope of his 
life was immense. His harp was full stringed, and every 
angel of joy and of sorrow swept over the'chords as he past ; 
but the melody always breathed of heaven. And such oceans 
of affection lay within his breast, as could not always slum- 
ber in their calmness. For the hearts of a hundred men 
strove and struggled together within the narrow continent of 
his single heart. And will the scornful men have no sym- 
pathy for one so conditioned, but scorn him because he 
ruled not with constant quietness, the unruly host of divers 
natures which dwelt within his single soul ] of self com- 
mand surely he will not be held deficient, who endured 



FROM BISHOP HALL. 239 

ambitious vanity ; he would rather be his father's 
shepherd, than Saul's armour-bearer; all the 

Saul's javelin to be so often launched at him, while the peo- 
ple without were willing to hail him king ; who endured all 
bodily hardships and taunts of his enemies when revenge 
was in his hand, and ruled his desperate band like a com- 
pany of saints, and restrained them from their country's 
injury. But that he should not be able to enact all charac- 
ters without a fault , the simple shepherd, the conquering 
hero, and the romantic lover ; the perfect friend, the inno- 
cent outlaw, and the royal monarch ; the poet, the prophet, 
and the regenerator of the church ; and withal the man, the 
man of vast soul, who played not these parts by turns, but 
was the original of them all, and wholly present in them all ; 
oh ! that he should have fulfilled this high priesthood of 
humanity, this universal ministry of manhood without an 
error, were more than human. With the defence of his 
backslidings, which he hath himself more keenly scrutinized, 
more clearly discerned against, and more bitterly lamented 
than any of his censors, we do not charge ourselves ; but if, 
when of these acts he became convinced, he be found less 
true to God, and to righteousness ; indisposed to repent- 
ance and sorrow and anguish ; exculpatory of himself ; 
stout-hearted in his courses, a formalist in his penitence, 
or in any way less worthy of a spiritual man in those than in 
the rest of his infinite moods, then, verily, strike him from 
the canon, and let his psalms become monkish legends, or 
what you please. But if these penitential psalms discover 
the souls deepest hell of agony, and lay bare the iron ribs of 
misery, whereon the very heart dissolveth, and if they, ex- 
pressing the same in words, which melt the soul that con- 



340 



SELECTIONS. 



magnificence and state which he saw, could not 
put his mouth out of the taste of a retired sim- 
plicity; yea rather be loves his hook the better 
since he saw the court ; and now his brethren 
serve Saul in his stead. Forty clays together had 
the Philistines and Israelites faced each other, 
nothing but a valley was betwixt them. Both 
stand upon defence and advantage ; if they had 
not meant to fight, they had never drawn so near; 
and if they had been eager to fight, a valley could 
not have parted them. David hath now lain long 
enough close amongst his flock in the field of Beth- 
lehem ; God sees a time to send him to the pitched 
field of Israel. Good old Jesse, that was doubt- 
less joyful to think that he had afforded three sons 
to the wars of his king, is no less careful of their 
welfare and provision ; and who, amongst all the 
rest of his seven sons, shall be picked out for this 
service, but his youngest son David, whose former 
and almost worn out acquaintance in the court 
and employment under Saul, seemed to fit him 
best for this employment, Early in the morning 

ceive:h, and bow the head that uttereth them, then, we 
say, let us keep these records of the psalmist's grief and dis- 
pondency, as the most precious of his utterances, and sure 
to be needed in the case of every man who essayeth. to live 
a spiritual life, &c. 



FROM BISHOP HALL. 



241 



is David upon bis way ; yet not so early as to 
leave his flock unprovided. If his father's com- 
mands dismiss him, yet will he stay till he have 
trusted his sheep with a careful keeper. Ere 
David's speed can bring him to the valley of Elah, 
both the armies are on foot ready to join. He 
takes not this excuse to stay without, as a man 
daunted with the horrors of war ; but leaving his 
present with his servant, he thrusts himself into 
the thickest of the host, and salutes his brethren 
which were now thinking of nothing but killing 
or dying, when the proud champion of the Phi- 
listines comes stalking forth before all the troops, 
and renews his insolent challenge against Israel. 
David sees the man and hears his defiance, and 
looks about him to see what answer would be 
given ; and when he espies nothing but pale faces 
and backs turned, he wonders, not so much that 
one man should dare all Israel, as that all Israel 
should run from one man. Even when they fly 
from Goliath, they talk of the reward that should 
be given to that encounter and victory which they 
dare not undertake; so those which have not 
grace to believe, yet can say, " There is glory laid 
up for the faithful." 

Ever since his anointing was David possessed 
with God's spirit, and thereby filled both with 

R 



243 



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courage and wisdom : the more strange doth it 
seem to him, that all Israel should be thus das- 
tardly ; ready to undertake the quarrel, because 
no man else dare do it. His eyes sparkled with 
holy anger, and his heart rose up to his mouth 
when he heard this proud challenger- ""Who is 
this uncircutncised Philistine that he should revile 
the host of the living: God?" It was for his bre- 
thren's sake, that David came thither; and yet 
his very journey is cast upon him by them, for a 
reproach ; u Wherefore earnest thou down hi- 
ther V and when their bitterness can meet with 
nothing else to shame him, his sheep are cast in 
his teeth : " Is it for thee, an idle proud boy, to 
be meddling with our martial matters ? Doth not 
yonder champion look as if he were a tit match for 
thee? What makest the , of toy self, or what dost 
thou think of us ? I wis it were fitter for thee to be 
locking to thy sheep, than looking to Goliath : the 
wilderness would become thee better than the 
field; wherein art thou equal to any man thou 
seest, but in arrogance and presumption? The 
pastures of Bethlehem could not hold thee, but 
thou though test it a goodly matter to see the wars ; 
I know thee, as if I were in thy bosom ; this was 
thv thought, 1 There is no glory to be got among 
fleeces, I will go seek it in arms; now are'-ray 



FROM BISHOP HALL. 



243 



brethren winning honour in the troops of Israel, 
while I am basely tending on sheep ; why should 
ot I be as forward as the best of them V This 
vanity would make thee straight of a shepherd, a 
soldier, a champion ; get thee home, foolish strip- 
ling, to thy hook and thy harp: let swords and 
spears alone to those that know how to use them." 

David s first victory is of himself ; next, of his 
brother ; he overcomes himself, in a patient for- 
bearance of his brother ; he overcomes the mali- 
cious rage of his brother, with the mildness of his 
answer. There now lieth the great defier of Israel, 
grovelling and grinning in death : and is not suf- 
suffered to deal one blow for his life : and bites 
the unwelcome earth for indignation that he dies 
by the hand of a shepherd. 

THE PLEASURE OF STUDY AND CONTEMPLA- 
TION.* 

I. can wonder at nothing more than how a man 
can be idle; but of all others, a scholar; in so 
many improvements of reason, in such sweetness 
of knowledge, in such variety of studies, in such 

* From his Epistle to Mr. Milward. A discourse of the 
pleasure of study and contemplation, with the varieties of 
scholarlike employments, not without incitation of others 
thereunto ; and a censure of their neglect. 



244 



SELECTIONS 



importunity of thoughts : other artizans do but 
practice, we still learn ; others run still in the 
same gyre to weariness, to satiety; our choice is 
infinite ; other labours require recreations ; our 
very labour recreates our sports; we can never 
want either somewhat to do, or somewhat that we 
would do. How numberless are the volumes 
which men have written of arts, of tongues! How 
endless is that volume which God hath written 
of the world ! wherein every creature is a letter ; 
every day a new page. Who can be weary of 
either of these ? To find wit in poetry ; in philo- 
sophy, profoundness ; in mathematics, acuteness ; 
in history, wonder of events ; in oratory, sweet 
eloquence ; in divinity, supernatural light, and 
holy devotion ; as so many rich metals in their 
proper mines ; whom would it not ravish with de- 
light ? After all these, let us but open our eyes we 
cannot look beside a lesson, in this universal book 
of our Maker, worth our study, worth taking out. 
What creature hath not his miracle ? what event 
doth not challenge his observation? And, if, 
weary of foreign employment, we list to look 
home into ourselves, there we find a more private 
world of thoughts which set us on work anew, more 
busily and not less profitably : now our silence is 
vocal, our solitariness popular ; and we are shut 



FROM BISHOP HALL. 



245 



up, to do good unto many ; if once we be cloyed 
with our own company, the door of conference is 
open ; here interchange of discourse (besides 
pleasure benefits us ; and he is a weak compa- 
nion from whom we return not wiser. I could 
envy, if I could believe that anchoret, who, se- 
cluded from the world, and pent up in his volun- 
tary prison walls, denied that he thought the day 
long, whiles yet he wanted learning to vary his 
thoughts. Not to be cloyed with the same con- 
ceit is difficult, above human strength ; but to a 
man so furnished with all sorts of knowledge, that 
according to his dispositions he can change his 
studies, I should wonder that ever the sun should 
seem to pass slowly. How many busy tongues chase 
away good hours in pleasant chat, and complain 
of the haste of night ! What ingenious mind can 
be sooner weary of talking with learned authors, 
the most harmless and sweetest companions ? 
What an heaven lives a scholar in, that at once 
in one close room can daily converse with all the 
glorious martyrs and fathers ? that can single out 
at pleasure, either sententious Tertullian, or grave 
Cyprian, or resolute Hierome, or flowing Chry- 
sostome, or divine Ambrose, or devout Bernard, 
or, (who alone is all these) heavenly Augustine^ 



246 



SELECTIONS 



and talk with them and hear their wise and holy 
counsels, verdicts, resolutions ; yea, (to rise higher) 
with courtly Esay, with learned Paul, with all their 
fellow-prophets, apostles; yet more, like another 
Moses, with God himself, in them both? Let the 
world contemn us ; while we have these delights 
we cannot envy them ; we cannot wish ourselves 
other than we are. Besides, the way to all other 
contentments is troublesome ; the only recom- 
pence is in the end. To delve in the mines, to 
scorch in the fire for the getting, for the fining of 
gold is a slavish toil ; the comfort is in the wedge 
to the owner, not the labourers ; where our very 
search of knowledge is delightsome. Study it* 
self is our life ; from which we would not be bar- 
red for a world. How much sweeter then is the 
fruit of study, the conscience of knowledge? In 
comparison whereof the soul that hath once tasted 
it, easily contemns all human comforts. Go now, 
ye worldlings, and insult over our paleness, our 
neediness, our neglect. Ye could not be so jocund 
if you were not ignorant ; if you did not want 
knowledge, you could not overlook him that 
hath it ; for me, I am so far from emulating you, 
that I profess I had as lieve be a brute beast, as 
an ignorant rich man. How is it then, that those 



FROM BISHOP HALL. 



247 



gallants, which have privilege of blood and birth, 
and better education, do so scornfully turn off 
these most manly, reasonable, noble exercises of 
scholarship? an hawk becomes their fist better 
than a book ; no dog but is a better company : 
any thing or nothing, rather than what we ought. 
O minds brutishly sensual ! Do they think that 
God made them for disport, who even in his pa- 
radise, would not allow pleasure without work ? 
And if for business, either of body or mind : those 
of the body are commonly servile, like itself. The 
mind therefore, the mind only, that honourable 
and divine part, is fittest to be employed of those 
which would reach to the highest perfection of 
men, and would be more than the most. And 
what work is there of the mind but the trade of 
a scholar, study? Let me therefore fasten this 
problem on our school gates, and challenge all 
commers, in the defence of it; that no scholar, 
cannot but be truly noble. And if I make it not 
good let me never be admitted further then to the 
subject of our question. Thus we do well to congra- 
tulate to ourselves our own happiness ; if others 
will come to us, it shall be our comfort, but more 
theirs ; if not, it is enough that we can joy in our- 
selves, and in him in whom we are that we are. 



248 



SELECTIONS 



HOW A DAY SHOULD BE SPENT.* 
FROM AN EPISTLE TO MY LORD DENNY. 

Every day is a little life : and our whole is but a 
day repeated : whence it is that old Jacob num- 
bers his life by days, and Moses desires to be 
taught this point of holy arithmetic, to number 
not his years, but his days. Those therefore that 
dare lose a day, are dangerously prodigal; those 
that dare mispend it, desperate. We can best 
teach others by ourselves ; let me tell your lord- 
ship, how I would pass my days, whether common 
or secret; that you (or whosoever others* over- 
hearing me) may either approve my thriftiness, 
or correct my errors : to whom is the account of 
my hours more due, or more known. All days 
are his, who gave time a beginning and continu- 
ance ; yet some he hath made ours, not to com- 
mand, but to use. 

In none may we forget him ; in some we must 
forget all, besides him. First, therefore, I desire 
to awake at those hours, not when I will, but when 
I must; pleasure is not a fit rule for rest, but 
health ; neither do I consult so much with the 
sun, as mine own necessity, whether of body or 



* David vi. Epist. 1. 



FROM BISHOP HALL. 



249 



in that of the mind. If this vassal could well 
serve me waking, it should never sleep ; but now 
it must be pleased, that it must be serviceable. 
Now, when sleep is rather driven away than 
leaves me, I would ever awake with God; my 
first thoughts are for him, who hath made the 
night for rest, and the day for travel ; and as he 
gives, so blesses both.* If my heart be early 
seasoned with his presence, it will savour of him 
all day after. While my body is dressing, not 
with an effeminate curiosity, nor yet with rude 
neglect ; my mind addresses itself to her ensuing 
task, bethinking what is to be done, and in what 
order ; and marshalling (as it may) my hours with 
my work ; that done, after some whiles meditation, 
I walk up to my masters and companions, my 
books ; and sitting down amongst them, with the 
best contentment, I dare not reach forth my hand 
to salute any of them, till I have first looked up 

* See Bishop Taylor's rules in his Holy Living for employ- 
ing our time. — " In the morning, when you awake, accus- 
tom yourself to think first upon God, or something in order 
to his service ; and at night also let him close thine eyes, 
and let your sleep be necessary and healthful, not idle and 
expensive of time, beyond the needs and conveniences of 
nature; and sometimes be curious to see the preparation 
which the sun makes, when he is coming forth from his 
chambers of the east. 



250 



SELECTIONS 



to heaven, and craved favour of him to whom all 
my studies are duly referred : without whom, I 
can neither profit, nor labour. After this, out of 
no over great variety, I call forth those, which may 
best fit my occasions ; wherein, I am not too scru- 
pulous of age; sometimes I put myself to school, 
to one of those ancients, whom the church hath ho- 
noured with the name ot Fathers; whose volumes 
I confess not to open, without a sacred reverence 
of their holiness, and gravity; sometimes to those 
later doctors, which want nothing but age to make 
them classical : always to God's book. That day 
is lost, whereof some hours are not improved in 
those divine monuments : others I turn over out 
of choice ; these out of duty. Ere I can have sate 
unto weariness, my family, having now overcome 
all household-distractions, invites me to our com- 
mon devotions: not without some short prepara- 
tion. These heartily performed, send me up with 
a more strong and cheerful appetite to my former 
work, which I find made easy to me by intermis- 
sion, and variety ; now therefore can I deceive 
the hours with change of pleasures, that is, of 
labours. One while mine eyes are busied, an- 
other while my hand, and sometimes my mind takes 
the burthen from them both; wherein I would 
imitate the skilfulest cooks, which make the best 



FROM BISHOP HALL. 



251 



dishes with manifold mixtures; one hour is spent 
in textual divinity, another in controversy ; his- 
tories relieve them both. Now, when the mind is 
weary of other labours, it begins to undertake her 
own; sometimes it meditates and winds up for 
future use ; sometimes it lays forth her conceits 
into present discourse ; sometimes for itself, ofter 
for others. Neither know I whether it works or 
plays in these thoughts ; I am sure no sport hath 
more pleasure, no work more use : only the decay 
of a weak body, makes me think these delights 
insensibly laborious. Thus could I all day (as 
ringers use) make myself music with changes, and 
complain sooner of the day for shortness, than of 
the business for toil ; were it not that this faint 
monitor interrupts me still in the midst of my busy 
pleasures, and inforces me both to respite and 
repast; I must yield to both; while my body and 
mind are joined together in unequal couples, the 
better must follow the weaker. Before my meals, 
therefore, and after, I let myself loose from all 
thoughts; and now, would forget that I ever 
studied ; a full mind takes away the bodies appe- 
tite, no less than a full body makes a dull and 
unwieldy mind ; company, discourse, recreations, 
are now seasonable and welcome : these prepare 
me for a diet, not gluttonous, but medicinal; the 
palate may not be pleased, but the stomach ; nor 



252 



SELECTIONS 



that for its own sake: neither would I think any 
of these comforts worth respect in themselves but 
in their use. in their end ; so far as they may en- 
able me to better things. If I see any dish to 
tempt my palate, I fear a serpent in that apple, 
and would please myself in a wilful denial ; I rise 
capable of more, not desirous ; not now imme- 
diately from my trencher to my book ; but after 
some intermission. Moderate speed is a sure 
help to all proceedings ; where those things which 
are prosecuted with violence of endeavour or de- 
sire, either succeed not, or continue not. 

After my later meal, my thoughts are slight; 
only my memory may be charged with her task, 
of recalling what was committed to her custody in 
the day ; and my heart is busy in examining my 
hands and mouth, and all other senses, of that 
day's behaviour. And now the evening is come, 
no tradesman doth more carefully take in his 
wares, clear his shopboard, and shut his windows, 
than I would shut up my thoughts, and clear my 
mind. That student shall live miserably, which 
]ike a camel lies down under his burden. All 
this done, calling together my family, we end 
the dav with God.* Thus do we rather drive 



* Fuller in his Life of Lord Burleigh, says, — " No man 
was more pleasant and merry at meals and he had a pretty 



FROM BISHOP HALL. 



253 



away the time before us, than follow it. I grant 
neither is my practice worthy to be exemplary, 
neither are our callings proportionable. The 
lives of a nobleman, of a courtier, of a scholar, of 
a citizen, of a countryman, differ no less than 
their dispositions ; yet must all conspire in honest 
labour. 

Sweet is the destiny of all trades, whether of the 

wit-rack in himself, to make the dumb to speak, to draw 
speech out of the most sullen and silent guest at his table, 
to shew his disposition in any point he should propound. 
For foreign intelligence, though he traded sometimes on the 
stock of Secretary Walsingham, yet wanted he not a plen- 
tiful bank of his own. At night when he put off his gown 
he used to say, " Lie there, Lord Treasurer,'' and bidding 
adieu to all state-affairs, disposed himself to his quiet rest. 

Bacon, in his Essay on Health, says, " To be free-minded 
and cheerfully disposed at hours of meat, and sleep, and of 
exercise, is one of the best precepts of long lasting." 

See in the Sentimental Journey, the anecdote of "The 
Grace,'* which concludes thus I thought I beheld Reli- 
gion mixing in the dance, but as I had never seen her so 
engaged, I should have looked upon it now, as one of the 
illusions of an imagination which is eternally misleading me, 
had not the old man, as soon as the dance was ended, said, 
that this was their constant way, and that all his life long he 
had made it a rule, after supper was over, to call out his 
family to dance and rejoice, believing he said, that a cheer- 
ful and contented mind was the best sort of thanks to heaven 
that an illiterate peasant could pay. Or a learned prelate 
either, said I." 



254 



SELECTIONS 



brows, or of the mind. God never allowed any 
man to do nothing 1 . How miserable is the condi- 
tion of those men, which spend the time as if it 
were given them, and not lent; as if hours were 
waste creatures, and such as never should be ac- 
counted for ; as if God would take this for a good 
bill of reckoning : Item, spent upon my pleasures 
forty years ! These men shall once find, that no 
blood can privilege idleness ; and that nothing is 
more precious to God, than that which they desire 
to cast away ; time. Such are my common days ; 
but God's day calls for another respect. The 
same sun arises on this day, and enlightens it; 
yet because that Sun of Righteousness arose upon 
it, and gave a new life unto the world in it, and 
drew the strength of God's moral precept unto it, 
therefore justly do we sing with the psalmist; 
This is the day which the Lord hath made. Now 
I forget the world, and in a sort myself ; and deal 
with my wonted thoughts, as great men use, who, 
at sometimes of their privacy, forbid the access of 
all suitors. Prayer, meditation, reading, hearing, 
preaching, singing, good conference, are the bu- 
sinesses of this day, which I dare not bestow on 
any work, or pleasure, but heavenly. 

I hate superstition on the one side, and loose- 
ness on the other ; but I find it hard to offend in 
too much devotion, easy in profaneness. The 



FROM BISHOP II ALL, 



255 



whole week is sanctified by this day;* and accord- 
ing to my care of this, is my blessing on the rest. 
I show your lordship what I would do, and what 
I ought ; I commit my desires to the imitation of 
the weak ; my actions to the censures of the wise 
and holy ; my weaknesses to the pardon and re- 
dress of my merciful God. 

* See Burnet's Life of Sir M. Hale, where he says, " he 
divided himself between the duties of religion, and the 
studies of his profession ; in the former he was so regular, 
that for six and thirty years time, he never once failed going 
to church on the Lord's day ; he took a strict account of his 
time, of which the reader will best judge, by the scheme he 
drew for a diary. It is set down in the same simplicity in 
which he writ it for his own private use. 

MORNING. 

To lift up my heart to God in thankfulness for renewing 
my life. 

evening. 

Cast up the accounts of the day. If ought amiss, beg par- 
don. Gather resolution of more vigilence. If well, bless 
the mercy and grace of God that hath supported thee. 

Locke, in his Conduct of the Understanding, says, " Be- 
sides his particular calling for the support of his life, every 
one has a concern in a future life, which he is bound to look 
after. This engages his thoughts in religion ; and here it 
mightily lies upon him to understand and reason right. Men 
therefore cannot be excused from understanding the words, 
and framing the general notions relating to religion right. 
The one day of seven, besides other days of rest, allows in 



256 



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OLD AGE. 

Our infancy is full of folly : youth, of disorder 
and toil; age, of infirmity. Each time hath his 
burden; and that which may justly work our 
weariness : yet infancy longeth after youth ; and 
youth after more age ; and he, that is very old, as 
he is a child for simplicity, so he would be for 
years. I account old age the best of the three; 
partly, for that it hath passed through the folly 
and disorder of the others; partly, for that the 
inconveniences of this are but bodily, with a bet- 
tered estate of the mind ; and partly, for that it is 
nearest to dissolution. There is nothing more- 
miserable, than an old man that would be young 
again. It was an answer worthy the commenda- 
tions of Petrarch; and that, which argued a mind 
truly philosophical of him, who, when his friend 
bemoaned his age appearing in his white temples, 
telling him he was sorry to see him look so old, 
replied, " Nay, be sorry rather, that ever I was 
young, to be a fool." 

the christian world time enough for this (had they no other 
idle hours) if they would but make use of these vacancies 
from their daily labour, and apply themselves to an improve- 
ment of knowledge, with as much diligence as they often 
do to a great many other things that are useless. > ; m 



DR. BARROW. jJmA 

If a man lack wisdom, let him ask it of God, ^ho giveth 
freely. Therefore, O everlasting wisdom, the maker, re- 
deemer, and governor of all things, let some comfortable 
beams from thy great body of heavenly light descend upon 
us, to illuminate our dark minds and quicken our dead 
hearts to enflame us with ardent love unto thee, and to 
direct our steps in obedience to thy laws through the gloomy 
shades of this world into that region of eternal light and 
bliss where thou reignest in perfect glory and majesty, one 
God ever-blessed, world without end. Amen. 



s 



DOCTOR BARROW. 



KNOWLEDGE IS A SOURCE OF DELIGHT * 
Wisdom of itself is delectable and satisfactory, 
as it implies a revelation of truth and a detection 
of error to us. ; Tis like light, pleasant to behold, 
casting a sprightly lustre, and diffusing a benign 
influence all about; presenting a goodly prospect 
of things to the eyes of our mind ; displaying ob- 
jects in their due shapes, postures, magnitudes, 
and colours ; quickening our spirits with a com- 
fortable warmth, and disposing our minds to a 
cheerful activity ; dispelling the darkness of ig- 
norance, scattering the mists of doubt, driving 
away the spectres of delusive fancy ; mitigating 
the cold of sullen melancholy; discovering ob- 
stacles, securing progress, and making the pas- 
sages of life clear, open and pleasant. We are 
all naturally endowed with a strong appetite to 
know, to see, to pursue truth ; and with a bash- 



Sermon i. p. 1. 



260 



SELECTIONS 



ful abhorrency from being deceived and entangled 
in mistake. And as success in enquiry after truth 
affords matter of joy and triumph ; so being con- 
scious of error and miscarriage therein, is at- 
tended with shame and sorrow. These desires 
wisdom in the most perfect manner satisfies, not 
by entertaining us with dry, empty, fruitless theo- 
ries upon mean and vulgar subjects; but by en- 
riching our minds with excellent and useful know- 
ledge, directed to the noblest objects and service- 
able to the highest ends.* 



* Bacon in enumerating 1 the advantages of knowledge, 
says, 1. It relieves man's afflictions. 2. It promotes public 
virtue and order. 3. It promotes private virtues, by hu- 
manizing, humbling, nullifying- vain admiration, improving. 
3. It is power. 4. The pleasure of knowledge far ex- 
ceedeth all other pleasures ; for, shall the pleasures of the 
affections so exceed the senses, as much as the obtaining of 
desire or victory exceedeth a song or a dinner ; and must 
not, of consequence, the pleasures of the intellect or under- 
standing exceed the pie asures of the affections ? We see in 
all other pleasures there is satiety, and after they be used, 
their verdure departeth ; which sheweth well they be but 
deceits of pleasure, and not pleasures ; and that it was the 
novelty which pleased, and not the quality ; and there- 
fore we see that voluptuous men turn friars, and ambitious 
princes turn melancholy. But of knowledge there is no 
satiety, but satisfaction and appetite are perpetually inter- 



FROM DR. B ARROW. 



261 



WISDOM SELECTS TRUE PLEASURES. 
Wisdom is exceedingly pleasant and peaceable ; 
in general, by disposing us to acquire and to en- 
joy all the good delight and happiness we are 
capable of ; and by freeing us from all the incon- 
veniences, mischiefs, and infelicities our condition 
is subject to. For whatever good from clear un- 
derstanding, deliberate advice, sagacious foresight, 
stable resolution, dextrous address, right intention, 



changeable ; and therefore appeareth to be good in itself 
simply, without fallacy or accident. Neither is that plea- 
sure of small efficacy and contentment to the mind of 
man, which the poet Lucretius describeth elegantly, 
" Suave mari magno, turbantibus sequora ventis, &c. 
" It is a view of delight," saith he, " to stand or walk 
upon the shore side, and to see a ship tossed with tempest 
upon the sea ; or to be in a fortified tower, and to see two 
battles join upon a plain ; but it is a pleasure incompara- 
ble, for the mind of man to be settled, landed, and fortified 
in the certainty of truth, and from thence to descry and 
behold" the errors, perturbations, labours, and wanderings 
up and down of other men." " So always, that this pros- 
pect be with pity, and not with swelling or pride. Cer- 
tainly, it is heaven upon earth, to have a man's mind 
move in charity, rest in providence, and turn upon the poles 
of truth." 



262 



SELECTIONS 



and orderly proceeding doth naturally result, wis- 
dom confers : whatever evil blind ignorance, false 
presumption, unwary credulity, precipitate rash- 
ness, unsteady purpose, ill contrivance, backward- 
ness, inability, unwieldiness and confusion of 
thought beget, wisdom prevents. From a thou- 
sand snares and treacherous allurements, from in- 
numerable rocks and dangerous surprizes, from 
exceedingly many needless incumbrances and vex- 
atious toils of fruitless endeavours she redeems 
and secures us. 

Wisdom instructs us to examine, compare, and 
rightly to value the objects that court our affec- 
tions and challenge our care; and thereby regu- 
lates our passions and moderates our endeavours, 
which begets a pleasant serenity and peaceable 
tranquillity of mind. For when being deluded 
with false shews, and relying upon ill-grounded 
presumptions, we highly esteem, passionately af- 
fect, and eagerly pursue things of little worth 
in themselves or concernment to us ; as we un- 
handsomely prostitute our affections, and prodi- 
gally mis-spend our time, and vainly lose our la- 
bour, so the event not answering our expecta- 
tion, our minds thereby are confounded, disturbed 
and distempered. But, when guided by right 



FROM DR. BARROW. 



263 



reason, we conceive great esteem of, and zea- 
lously are enamoured with, and vigorously strive 
to attain things of excellent worth and weighty 
consequence, the conscience of having well placed 
our affections and well employed our pains, and 
the experience of fruits corresponding to our 
hopes, ravishes our minds with unexpressible con- 
tent. And so it is : present appearance and vul- 
gar conceit ordinarily impose upon our fancies, 
disguising things with a deceitful varnish, and re- 
presenting those that are vainest with the greatest 
advantage ; whilst the noblest objects, being of 
a more subtle and spiritual nature, like fairest 
jewels enclosed in a homely box, avoid the notice 
of gross sense and pass undiscerned by us. But 
the light of wisdom, as it unmasks specious im- 
posture and bereaves it of its false colours, so it 
penetrates into the retirements of true excellency 
and reveals its genuine lustre.* 

* Wisdom doth balance in her scales those true and false 
pleasures which do equally invite the senses : and rejecting 
all such as have no solid value or lasting refreshment, doth 
select and take to her bosom those delights that, proving 
immortal, do seem to smell and taste of that paradise from 
which they sprung. Like the wise husbandman who, taking 
the rough grain which carries in its heart the bread to 
sustain life, doth trample under foot the gay and idle flowers 
which many times destroy it. A. M. 



264 



SELECTIONS 



KNOWLEDGE AVOIDS THE MISERY TO WHICH 
IGNORANCE IS EXPOSED.* 

Wisdom makes all the troubles, griefs and pains 
incident to life, whether casual adversities, or na- 
tural afflictions, easy and supportable, by rightly 
valuing the importance and moderatiug the in- 
fluence of them. It suffers not busy fancy to 
alter the nature, amply fy the degree, or extend 
the duration of them, by representing them more 
sad, heavy and remediless than they truly are. It 
allows them no force beyond what naturally and 
necessarily they have, nor contributes nourish- 
ment to their increase. It keeps them at a due 
distance, not permitting them to encroach upon 
the soul, or to propogate their influence beyond 
their proper sphere. f 

* Serm. 1. p. 2. 

t Ignorance can shake strong sinews with idle thoughts, 
and sink brave hearts with light sorrows, and doth lead in- 
nocent feet to impure dens, and haunts the simple rustic 
with credulous fears, and the swart Indian with that more 
potent magic, under which spell he pines and dies. And 
by ignorance is a man fast bound from childhood to the 
grave, till knowledge, which is the revelation of good and 
evil, doth set him free. A. ML 

Knowledge mitigates the fear of death and adverse for- 
tune ; for, if a man be deeply imbued with the contempla- 



FItO?.I DR. BARROW. 



265 



HONORING GOD * 
God is honoured by a willing and careful 
practice of all piety and virtue for conscience 

tion of mortality and the corruptible nature of all things, he 
will easily concur with Epictetus who went forth one day 
and saw a woman weeping for her pitcher of earth that was 
broken ; and went forth the next day and saw a woman 
weeping for her son that was dead : and thereupon said, 
" Heri vidi fragilem frangi ; hodie vidi mortalem mori." 
And therefore Virgil did excellently and profouadly couple 
the knowledge of causes and the conquest of all fears as 
concomitant ; 

Felix, qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas, 
Quique metus omnes et inexorabile fatum 
Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avari. 

Bacon. 

Near to the Hartz Mountains in Germany, a gigantic 
figure has from time immemorial occasionally appeared in 
the heavens. It is indistinct, but always resembles the 
form of a human being. Its appearance has ever been a 
certain indication of approaching misfortune. It is called 
the Spectre of the Broken. It has been seen by many tra- 
vellers. In speaking of it, Monsieur Jordan says, " In the 
course of my repeated tours through the Hartz Mountains 
I often, but in vain, ascended the Broken, that I might see 
the spectre. At length, on a serene morning, as the sun 
was just appearing above the horizon, it stood before me, at 
a great distance, towards the opposite mountain. It seemed 
to be the gigantic figure of a man. It vanished in a moment." 
In September 1796, the celebrated Abbe Haiiy visited this 

* Sermon iv. p. 34. 



2 36 



SELECTION S 



sake, or an avowed obedience to his holy will 
This is the most natural expression of our 
reverence towards him, and the most effectual 
way of promoting the same in others. A subject 
cannot better demonstrate the reverence he bears 
towards bis prince, than bv (with a cheerful dili- 
gence) observing his laws ; for by so doing he de- 
clares that he acknowledged the authority, and 
revereth the majesty which enacted them ; that he 



country, He says : " After having ascended the mountain 
for thirty times. I at last saw the spectre. It was just at 
sun-rise, in the middle of the month of May, about four 
o'clock in the morning. 1 saw distinctly a human figure of 
a monstrous size. The atmosphere was quite serene towards 
the east. In the south-west a high wind carried before it 
some light vapours, which were scarcely condensed into 
clouds and hung round the mountains upon which the figure 
stood. I bowed. The colossal figure repeated it. I paid 
my respects a second time, which was returned with the 
same civility. I then called the landlord of the inn : and 
having taken the same position which I had before occupied, 
we looked towards the mountain, when we clearly saw two 
such colossal figures, which, after having repeated our com- 
pliment by bending their bodies, vanished. — When the 
rising sun throws his rays over the Broken upon the body 
of a man standing opposite to fleecy clouds, let him fax his 
eye stedfastiy upon them, and in all probability he will see 
his own shadow extending the length of five or sis hundred 
feet, at the distance of about two miles from him." 



FROM DR. BARROW. 



267 



approves the wisdom which devised them, and the 
goodness which designed them for public benefit ; 
that he dreads his prince's power, which can 
maintain them, and his justice, which will vindicate 
them : that here lies upon his fidelity in making 
good what of protection or of recompence he 
propounds to the observers of them. No less preg- 
nant a signification of our reverence towards God, 
do we yield in our gladly and strictly obeying his 
laws : thereby evidencing our submission to God's 
sovereign authority, our esteem of his wisdom and 
goodness, our awful regard to his power and jus- 
tice, our confidence in him, and dependence upon 
his word. The goodliness to the sight, the plea- 
santness to the taste, which is ever perceptible in 
those fruits which genuine piety beareth, the 
beauty men see in a calm mind and a sober con- 
versation, the sweetness they taste from works of 
justice and charity, will certainly produce vene- 
ration to the doctrine which teach eth. such things, 
and to the authority which enjoyns them. We 
shall especially honour God, by discharging faith- 
fully those offices which God hath entrusted us 
with ; by improving diligently those talents which 
God hath committed to us; by using carefully 
those means and opportunities which God hath 
vouchsafed us of doing him service and promo- 
ting his glory. Thus he to whom God hath 



268 



SELECTIONS 



given wealth, if he expend it, not to the nourish- 
ment of pride and luxury, not only to the gratify- 
ing his own pleasure or humour, but to the fur- 
therance of God's honour, or to the succour of 
his indigent neighbour, in any pious or charit- 
able way, he doth thereby in a special manner 
honour God. He also on whom God hath be- 
stowed wit and parts, if he employ them not so 
much in contriving projects to advance his own 
petty interests, or in procuring vain applause to 
himself, as in advantageously setting forth God's 
praise, handsomely recommending goodness, dex- 
terously engaging men in ways of virtue, he 
doth thereby remarkably honour God. He like- 
wise that hath honour conferr'd upon him, if 
he subordinate it to God's honour, if he use his 
own credit as an instrument of bringing credit to 
goodness, thereby adorning and illustrating piety, 
he by so doing doth eminently practise this duty. 

EFFECT OF EXAMPLE. 
What extreme advantage great persons have, 
especially by the influence of their practice, to 
bring God himself, as it were, into credit ! how 
much it is in their power easily to render piety a 
thing in fashion and request! for in what they do 
they never are alone, or are ill attended ; whither 



FROM DR. BARROW. 



269 



they go, they carry the world along with them ; 
they lead crowds of people after them, as well 
when they go in the right way, as when they run 
astray. The custom of living well, no less than 
other modes and garbs, will be soon conveyed 
and propagated from the court ; the city and 
country will readiiy draw good manners thence, 
good manners truly so called, not only superficial 
forms of civility, but real practices of goodness. 
For the main body of men goeth not " qua 
eundem, sed qua itur," not according to rules and 
reasons, but after examples and authorities ; es- 
pecially of great persons, who are like stars, 
shining in high and conspicuous places by which 
men steer their course ; their actions are to be 
reckoned not as single or solitary ones, but are, 
like their persons, of a public and representative 
nature, involving the practice of others, who are 
by them awed, or shamed into compliance. Their 
good example especially hath this advantage, that 
men can find no excuse, can have no pretence 
why they should not follow it. Piety is not only 
beautified, but fortified by their dignity ; it not 
only shines on them with a clear lustre, but with a 
mightier force and influence ; a word, a look, 
the least intimation from them will do more good, 
than others best eloqueuce, clearest reason, most 



270 



SELECTIONS 



earnest endeavours. For it is in them, if they 
would apply themselves to it, a? the wisest prince 
implies, to "scatter iniquity with their eyes."' A 
smile of theirs were able to enliven virtue, and 
diffuse it all about ; a frown might suffice to mor- 
tify and dissipate wickedness. Such apparently 
is their power of honouring God ; and in propor- 
tion thereto surely great is their obligation to do 
it; of them peculiarly God expects it, and ail 
equity exacts it. 



PIETY* 

Is a man prosperous, high, or wealthy in con- 
dition ? Piety guardeth him from all the mischiefs 
incident to that state, and disposeth him to en- 
joy the best advantages thereof. It keepeth him 
from being swelled and puffed up with vain con- 
ceit, from being transported with fond complaisance 



* Serra. 11. p. 12. 
In the Profitableness of Goodness, the object of which is 
to prove that piety, — 

1st. It disposes all men properly to discharge their peculiar 
duties. 

2nd. Fits men for all conditions 
3rd. Is the greatest of all blessings. 
4th. Is immutable. 
The above extract is from art. 2. 



FROM DR. BARROW. 



271 



or confidence therein ; minding him that it is 
purely the gift of God, that it absolutely dependeth 
on his disposal, so that it may soon be taken from 
him, and that he cannot otherwise than by humi- 
lity, by gratitude, by the good use of it, be secure 
to retain it; minding him also, that he shall 
assuredly be forced to render a strict account 
concerning the good management thereof. It 
preserveth him from being perverted or corrupted 
with the temptations to which that condition is 
mostliable ; from luxury, from sloth, from stupidity, 
from forgetfulness of God, and of himself; main- 
taining among the floads of plenty a sober and 
steady mind. It fenceth him from insolence, and 
fastuous contempt of others ; rendereth him civil, 
condescensive, kind and helpful to those who are 
in a meaner state. It instructeth and incitethhim 
to apply his wealth and power to the best uses, to 
the service of God, to the benefit of his neighbour 
for his own best reputation, and most solid com- 
fort. It is the right ballast of prosperity, the only 
antidote for all the inconveniences of wealth ; that 
which secureth, sweeteneth and sanctifleth all 
other goods: without it all apparent goods are 
very noxious, or extremely dangerous ; riches, 
power, honour, ease, pleasure, are so many poisons 
or so many snares without it. Again, is a man 



272 



SELECTIONS 



poor and low, in the world ? Piety doth improve 
and sweeten even that state ; it keepeth his spirits 
up above dejection, desperation, and disconsolate- 
ness: it freeth him from all grievious solicitude 
and anxiety : shewing him, that although he 
seemeth to have little, yet he may be assured to 
want nothing, he having a certain succour, and 
never-failing supply from God's good Providence ; 
that notwithstanding the present straightness of 
his condition, or scantiness of outward things, 
he hath a title to goods infinitely more precious 
and more considerable. A pious man cannot but 
apprehend himself like the child of a most 
wealthy, kind and careful father, who although 
lie hath yet nothing in his own possession, or 
passing under his name, yet is assured that he can 
never come into any want of what is needful to 
him: the Lord of all things (who hath all things 
in heaven and earth at his disposal, who is infi- 
nitely tender of his children's good, who doth in- 
cessantly watch over them) being his gracious 
Father, how can he fear to be left destitute, or 
not to be competently provided for, as is truly 
best for him ? What if a man seem very poor ; if 
he be abundantly satisfied in his own possessions 
and enjoyments? what if he tasteth not the plea- 
sures of sense ; if he enjoyeth purer and sweeter 



FROM DR. BARROW. 273 

delights of mind ? what if tempests of fortune sur- 
round him; if his mind be calm and serene? 
what if we have few or no friends; if he yet be 
thoroughly in peace and amity with himself, and 
can delightfully converse with his own thoughts ? 
what if men slight, censure, or revile him; if he 
doth value his own state, doth approve his own 
actions, doth acquit himself of blame in his own 
conscience ? such external contingencies can surely 
no more prejudice a man's real happiness, than 
winds blustering abroad can harm or trouble him 
that abideth in a good room within doors, than 
storms and fluctuations at sea can molest him who 
standeth firm upon the shore.* 

PLEASURES OF PIETY. 

What have we to do but to eat and drink, like 
horses or like swine ; but to sport and play like 
children or apes ; but to bicker and scuffle about 
trifles and impertinences, like idiots ? what, but to 
scrape and scramble for useless pelf ; to hunt after 
empty shews aud shaddows of honour, or the vain 
fancies and dreams of men ? what but to wallow 
or bask in sordid pleasures, the which soon dege- 
nerate into remorse and bitterness ? to which sort 



*Page 21. 

T 



274 



SELECTIONS 



of employments were a man confined, what a piti- 
ful thing would he be, and how inconsiderable 
were his life? were a man designed only, like a 
fly, to buz about here for a time, sucking in the 
air and licking the dew, then soon to vanish back 
into nothing, or to be transformed into worms ; 
how sorry and despicable a thing were he ? and 
such without religion w T e should be. But it sup- 
plieth us with business of a most worthy nature, 
and lofty importance; it setteth us upon doing 
things great and noble as can be ; it engageth us 
to free our minds from all fond conceits, and 
cleanse our hearts from all corrupt affections ; to 
curb our brutish appetites, to tame our wild pas- 
sions, to correct our perverse inclinations, to con- 
form the dispositions of our soul, and the actions 
of our life to the eternal laws of righteousness and 
goodness ; it putteth us upon the imitation of 
God, and aiming at the resemblance of his per- 
fections; upon obtaining a friendship, and main- 
taining a correspondence with the High and Holy 
One ; upon fitting our minds for conversation and 
society with the wisest and purest spirits above ; 
upon providing for an immortal state ; upon the 
acquist of joy and glory everlasting. It employeth 
us in the divinest actions of promoting virtue, of 
performing beneficence, of serving the public, and 



FROM DR. BARROW. 



275 



doing good to all; the being exercised in which 
things doth indeed render a man highly consider- 
able, and his life excellently valuable.* 

DUTY OF THANKSGIVING.f 
Wherever we direct our eyes, whether we reflect 
them inward upon ourselves, we behold his good- 
ness to occupy and penetrate the very root and 
centre of our beings ; or extend them abroad 
toward the things about us, we may perceive our- 
selves enclosed wholly, and surrounded with his 
benefits. At home we find a comely body framed 
by his curious artifice, various organs fitly pro- 
portioned, situated and tempered for strength, 
ornament and motion, actuated by a gentle heat, 
and invigorated with lively spirits, disposed to 
health, and qualified for a long endurance ; sub- 
servient to a soul endued with divers senses, fa- 
culties and powers, apt to enquire after, pursue 
and perceive various delights and contents. Or 
when we contemplate the wonderful works of 
nature, and, walking about at our leisure, gaze 
upon this ample theatre of the world, considering 
the stately beauty, constant order, and sumptuous 
furniture thereof; the glorious splendor and uni- 
form motion of the heavens ; the pleasant fertility 



* Serrn. 3, p. 25. f Vol. 1. Serm. 8, p. 71, 79. 



2;6 



SELECTION 5 



of the earth ; the carious figure and fragrant 
sweetness of plants; the exquisite frame of ani- 
mals, and all other amazing miracles of nature, 
wherein the glorious attributes of God (especially 
his transcendent goodness) are most conspi- 
cuously displayed ; (so that by them not only 
large acknowledgments, but even congratulatory 
hymns, as it were, of praise, have been extorted 
from the mouths of Aristotle, Pliny, Galen, and 
such like men, never suspected guilty of an ex- 
cessive devotion;) then should our hearts be 
affected with thankful sense, and our lips break 
forth into his praise. 

WIT. 

To the question what the thing we speak of 
is, or what this facetiousness doth import 9 I 
might reply as Democritus did to him that 
asked the definition of a Man. Tis that which 
we all see and know: any one better apprehends 
what it is by acquaintance, than I can inform 
him by descript : on. It is indeed a thing so ver- 
satile and multiform, appearing in so many shapes, 
so many postures, so many garbs, so variously ap- 
prehended by several eyes and judgments, that it 
seemeth no less hard to settle a clear and certain 
notion thereof, than to make a portrait of Proteus, 
r to define the figure of a fleeting air. Some- 



FROM DR. BARROW. 



times it lieth in pat allusion to a known story, or 
in seasonable application of a trivial saying, or in 
forging an apposite tale : some imes it playeth in 
words and phrases, taking advantage from the 
ambiguity of their sense, or the affinity of their 
sound: sometimes it is wrapped in a dress of 
humourous expression ; sometimes it lurketh 
under an odd similitude ; sometimes it is lodged 
in a sly question, in a smart answer, in a quirkish 
reason, in a shrewd intimation, in cunningly divert- 
ing, or cleverly retorting an objection : some- 
times it is couched in a bold scheme of speech, in 
a tart irony, in a lusty hyperbole, in a startling 
metaphor, in a plausible reconciling of contradic- 
tions, or in acute nonsense : sometimes a scenical 
representation of persons or things, a counterfeit 
speech, a mimical look or gesture passeth for it: 
sometimes an affected simplicity, sometimes a pre- 
sumptuous bluntness, giveth it being ; sometimes 
it riseth from a lucky hitting upon what is strange, 
sometimes from a crafty wresting obvious matter 
to the purpose : often it consisteth in one knows 
not what, and springeth up one can hardly tell 
how. Its ways are unaccountable and inexpli- 
cable, being answerable to the numberless rovings 
of fancy and windings of language. It is, in short, 
a manner of speaking out of the simple and plain 



278 



SELECTIONS 



way (such as reason teacheth and proveth things 
by), which by a pretty surprising uncouthness in 
conceit or expression doth affect and amuse the 
fancy, stirring in it some wonder, and breeding 
some delight thereto.* 

THE BEE AXD THE SPIDER.f 

An honest and charitable mind disposes us, 
when we see any man endued with good qualities 
and pursuing a tenour of good practice, to esteem 
such a person, to commend him, to interpret what 
he doeth to the best, not to suspect any ill of him, 
or to seek any exception against him ; it enclineth 
us, when we see any action materially good, to 
yield it with simple due approbation and praise, 
without searching for, or surmising any defect in 
the cause or principle, whence it cometh, in the 
design or end to which it tendeth, in the way or 
manner of performing it. A good man would be 
sorry to have any good thing spoiled: as to find a 
crack in a fair building, a flaw in a fine jewel, a 
canker in a goodly flower, is grievous to any in- 

* Serm. 14, Against Foolish Talking and Jesting. 
Is not all laughter the sign of a sudden agreeable sensa- 
tion, subject, therefore, to an infinite variety, according as 
our sources o\ pleasure vary I 

t Serm. 19 ; Against Detraction, p. 191. 



FROM DH, BARROW. 



279 



different man ; so would it be displeasing to him 
to observe defects in a worthy person, or com- 
mendable action; he therefore will not easily 
entertain a suspicion of any such, he never will 
hunt for any. But on the contrary, 'tis the pro- 
perty of a detractor, when he seeth a worthy 
person, whom he doth not affect, or whom he is 
concerned to wrong, to survey him thoroughly, 
and to sift all his actions, with intent to descry 
some failing, or any semblance of a fault, by 
which he may disparage him ; when he vieweth 
any good action, he peereth into it, labouring 
to espy some pretence, to derogate from the com- 
mendation apparently belonging to it. 

As good nature, and ingenious disposition 
incline men to observe, like, and commend what 
appeareth best in our neighbour ; so malignity of 
temper and heart promoteth to espy, and catch at 
the worst : one, as a bee, gathereth honey out of 
any herb ; the other, as a spider, sucketh poison 
out of the sweetest flower.* 



* Bacon, in his Essay on Goodness of Nature, says, 
" Neither is there only a habit of goodness directed by right 
reason ; but there is in some men, even in nature, a dispo- 
sition towards it ; as, on the other side, there is a malignity ; 
for there be that in their nature do not affect the good of 
others. The lighter sort of malignity turneth but to a cross- 



280 



SELECTIONS 



CHARITY, 

Is any man fallen into disgrace ? Charity doth 
hold down its head, is abashed and out of coun- 

ness, or forwardness, or aptness to oppose, or difficileness, 
or the like ; but the deeper sort to envy, and mere mischief. 
Such men in other men's calamities, are, as it were, in 
season, and are ever on the loading part ; not so good as the 
dogs that licked Lazarus' sores, but like flies that are still 
buzzing upon any thing that is raw ; misanthropi, that make 
it their practice to bring men to the bough, and yet have 
never a tree for the purpose in a garden, as Timon had : 
such dispositions are the very errors of human nature, and 
yet they are the fittest timber to make great politics of ; like 
to knee timber, that is good for ships that are ordained to 
be tossed, but not for building houses that shall stand firm. 
The parts and signs of goodness are many. If a man be 
gracious and courteous to strangers, it shews he is a citizen 
of the world, and that his heart is no island cut off from 
other lands, but a continent that joins to them ; if he be com- 
passionate towards the afflictions of others, it shews that his 
heart is like the noble tree that is wounded itself when it 
gives the balm ; if he easily pardons and remits offences, it 
shews that his mind is planted above injuries, so that he 
cannot be shot : if he be thankful for small benefits, it shews 
that he weighs men's minds, and not their trash. 

Does not detraction originate in the common observa- 
tion that " the censure of others is a tacit approbation of 
ourselves ? 

Is not the spirit of detraction "peculiar to narrow minds, 
to wisdom in its own conceit? 



FROM DR. BARROW. 



281 



tenance, partaking of his shame; is any man dis- 
appointed of his hopes or endeavours? charity 
cryeth out alas, as if it were itself defeated : is 
any man afflicted with pain or sickness? charity 
looketh sadly, it sigheth and groaneth, it fainteth 
and languisheth with him. Is any man pinched 
with hard want? charity, if it cannot succour, it 
will condole. Doth ill news arrive? charity doth 
hear it with an unwilling ear, and a sad heart, 
although not particularly concerned in it. The 
sight of a wreck at sea, of a field spread with car- 
cases, of a country desolated, of houses burnt 
and cities ruined, and of the like calamities inci- 
dent to mankind, would touch the bowels of any 
man; but the very report of them would affect 
the heart of charity.* 

CONCORD AND DISCORD.t 
How good and pleasant a thing it is (as David 
saith) for brethren (and so we are all at least by 
nature) to live together in unity. How that (as 
Solomon saith) better is a dry morsel, and quiet- 
ness therewith, than a house full of sacrifices with 
strife. How delicious that conversation is, which 
is accompanied with mutual confidence, freedom, 



* Vol. 1. Serm. 27, Nature, &c. of Charity, p. 257. 
t Vol. 1. Serm. 30, p. 297-9. 



282 



SELECTIONS 



courtesy, and complaisance ; how calm the mind ? 
how composed the affections, how serene the 
countenance, how melodious the voice, how sw r eet 
the sleep, how contentful the whole life is of him 
that neither deviseth mischief against others, nor 
suspects any to be contrived against himself ; and 
contrariwise, how ungrateful and loathsome a 
thing it is to abide in a state of enmity, wrath, 
distention : having the thoughts distracted with 
solicitous care, anxious suspicion, envious regret; 
the heart boiling with choler, the face overclouded 
with discontent, the tongue jarring and out of 
tune, the ears filled with discordant noises of 
contradiction, clamour and reproach : the whole 
frame of body and soul distempered and disturbed 
with the worst of passions. How much more 
comfortable it is to walk in smooth and even paths 
than to wander in rugged ways, overgrown with 
briars, obstructed with rubs, and beset with snares, 
to sail steadily in a quiet, than to be tossed in a 
tempestuous sea ; to behold the lovely face of 
heaven smiling with a cheerful serenity, than to 
see it frowning with clouds, or raging with storms ; 
to hear harmonious consents, than dissonant 
janglings; to see objects correspondent in grace- 
ful symmetry, than lying disorderly in confused 
heaps; to be in health, and have the natural 
humours consent in moderate temper, than (as it 



FROM DR. BARROW. 



283 



happens in diseases) agitated with tumultuous 
commotions: how all senses and faculties of man 
unanimously rejoice in those emblems of peace, 
order, harmony, and proportion. Yea how nature 
universally delights in a quiet stability or undis- 
turbed progress of motion ; the beauty, stength, 
and vigour of every thing requires a concurrence 
of force, co-operation, and contribution of help ; 
all things thrive and flourish by communicating 
reciprocal aid, and the world subsists by a friendly 
conspiracy of its parts ; and especially that poli- 
tical society of men chiefly aims at peace as its 
end, depends on it as its cause, relies on it for its 
support. How much a peaceful state resembles 
heaven, into which neither complaint, pain, nor 
clamour, (gvtvj vevdot;, ovre irovoq, ovre Kpctvyv), as it is. 

in the Apocalypse) do ever enter ; but blessed 
souls converse together in perfect love, and in per- 
petual concord; and how a condition of enmity 
represents the state of hell, that black and dismal 
region of dark hatred, fiery wrath, and horrible 
tumult.* How like a paradise the world would be, 
flourishing in joy and rest, if men would cheer- 
fully conspire in affection, and helpfully contribute 
to each other's content : and how like a savage 



* Is it not the nature of virtue to unite, of vice and 
ignorance, like death, to decompose ? 



284 



SELECTIONS 



wilderness now it is, when like wild beasts, they 
vex and persecute, worry and devour each other. 
How not only philosophy hath placed the supreme 
pitch of happiness in a calmness of mind, and 
tranquillity of life, void of care and trouble, of irre- 
gular passions and perturbations ; but that holy 
scripture itself in that one term of peace most 
usually comprehends all joy and content, all feli- 
city and prosperity : so that the heavenly consort 
of angels, when they agree most highly to bless, 
and to wish the greatest happiness to mankind, 
could not better express their sense, than by say- 
ing, ' Be on earth peace, and good-will among 
men.' 

Almighty God, the most good and beneficent 
maker, gracious Lord, and merciful preserver of 
all thing>, infuse into their hearts those heavenly 
graces of meekness, patience and benignity, grant 
us and his whole church, and all his creation to 
serve him quietly hear, and a blissful rest to praise 
and magnify him for ever. 



FROM DR. BARROW. 



285 



THE CHRISTIAN .* 
An honest Pagan historian saith of the christian 
profession, that "nil nisi justum suadet et lene 
the which is a true, though not full character 
thereof. It enjoineth us that we should sincerely 
and tenderly love one another, should earnestly 
desire and delight in each other's good, should 
heartily sympathize with all the evils and sorrows 
of our brethren, should be ready to yield them 
all the help and comfort we are able, being willing 
to part with our substance, our ease, our pleasure 
for their benefit or succour; not confining this 
our charity to any sort of men, particularly re- 
lated or affected towards us, but, in conformity 
to our heavenly Father's boundless goodness, ex- 
tending it to all ; that we should mutually bear 
one another's burthens, and bear with one an- 
other's infirmities, mildly resent and freely remit 
all injuries, all discourtesies done unto us, 
retaining no grudge in our hearts, executing no 
revenge, but requiting them with good wishes and 
good deeds. It chargeth us to be quiet and 
orderly in our stations, diligent in our calling, 
veracious in our words, upright in our dealings, 



* Serin. 16, vol. 2. 



286 SELECTION'S 

observant in our relations, obedient and respect- 
ful towards our superiors, meek and gentle to our 
inferiors; morlest and lowly, ingenuous and com- 
pliant in our conversation, candid and benign in 
our censures, innocent and inoffensive, yea cour- 
teous and obliging in all our behaviour towards 
all persons. It commandeth us to root out of 
our hearts all spite and rancour, ail envy and ma- 
lignity, all pride and haughtiness, all evil suspi- 
cion and jealousy ; to restrain our tongue from all 
slander, all detraction, all reviling, all bitter and 
harsh language ; to banish from our practice what- 
ever may injure, may hurt, may needlessly vex 
or trouble our neighbour. It engageth us to pre- 
fer the public good before any private convenience, 
before our own opinion or humour, our credit or 
fame, our profit or advantage, our ease or plea- 
sure ; rather discarding a less good from ourselves, 
than depriving others of a greater. Now who can 
number or estimate the benefits that spring from 
the practice of these duties, either to the man that 
observes them, or to all men to common ? O di- 
vinest christian charity ! what tongue can worthily 
describe thy most heavenly beauty, thy incompa- 
rable sweetness, thy more than royal clemency 
and bounty ? how nobly dost thou enlarge our 



FROM DR. BARROW. 



287 



mind beyond the narrow sphere of self and private 
regard into an universal care and complacence,* 



* Would we learn then from Christ himself in what the 
will of our Maker consists, let us contemplate it in the 
whole tenour of his instructive and wonderful life. Did he 
fulfil that will by pompous and formal displays of superior 
wisdom, by austere and arrogant pretentions to superior 
righteousness, by solicitude for ritual observances, by dog- 
matism upon abstruse speculation, by a supercilious con- 
tempt of ignorance, or a ferocious intolerance of error ? No. 
But the will of God, such at least as was that which he ex- 
emplified, is to be found in lessons of virtue attractive from 
their simplicity, impressive from their earnestness, and au- 
thoritative from the miraculous evidence which accompanied 
them : in habits of humility without meanness, and of meek- 
ness without pusillanimity; in unwearied endeavours to con- 
sole the afflicted, to soften the prejudiced, and to encourage 
the sincere ; in unshaken firmness to strip the mask from 
pharisaical hypocrites, and to quell the insolence of dicta- 
torial and deceitful guides : in kindness to his followers, in 
forgiveness to his persecutors, in works of the most un- 
feigned and unbounded charity to man, and in a spirit of the 
purest and most sublime piety to his Father and his God. 

Dr. Parr. 

See Bishop Taylor's Cares of Conscience, chap, 4. " It 
is a doctrine perfective of human nature, that teaches us to 
love God and to love one another, to hurt no man, and to 
do good to every man, it propines to us the noblest, the 
highest, and the bravest pleasures of the world ; the joys of 
charity, the rest of innocence, the peace of quiet spirits, the 
wealth of beneficence, and forbids us only to be beasts, and 



288 



SELECTIONS, &c. 



making every man ourself and all concernments 
to be ours ? 

and to be devils; it allows all that God and nature intended, 
and only restrains the excrescencies of nature, and forbids us 
to take pleasure in that which is the only entertainment of 
devils, in murders and revenges, malice and spiteful words 
and actions ; it permits corporal pleasures where they can 
best minister to health and societies, to conversation of 
families, and honour of communities, it teaches men to 
keep their words that themselves may be secured in all 
their just interests, and to do good to others that good may 
be done to them ; it forbids biting one another that we may 
not be devoured by one another ; and commands obedience to 
superiors, that we may not be ruined in confusions ; it com- 
bines governments, and confirms all good laws and makes 
peace, and opposes and prevents wars where they are not 
just, and where they are not necessary. It is a religion that 
is life and spirit, not consisting in ceremonies and external 
amusements, but in the services of the heart, and the real 
fruits of lips, and hands, that is, of good words and good 
deeds, and hath in it both heat and light, and is not mere 
effectual than it is beauteous ; it promises every thing that 
we can desire, and yet promises nothing but what it does 
effect ; it proclaims war against all vices, and generally 
does command every virtue ; it teaches us with ease to mor- 
tify those affections which reason durst scarce reprove, 
because she hath not strength enough to conquer, and it does 
create in us those virtues which reason of herself never knew, 
and after they are known, could never approve sufficiently ; 
^ is a doctrine in which nothing is superfluous or burden- 
some, nor yet is there any thing wanting which can procure 
happiness to mankind, or by which God can be glorified. 



DR. FULLER. 

Know, next religion, there is nothing accomplished a 
man more than learning. Learning in a lord is as a 
diamond in gold. 

Dedication to the Holy War* 



TJ 



MISCELLANEOUS.* 



He must rise early, yea, not at all go to bed, who 
will have every ones good word. 

He needs strong arms who is to swim against 
the stream. 

He that falls into sin is a man; that grieves at 
it may be a saint ; that boasteth of it is a devil. 

It is hard for one of base parentage to personate 
a king without over-acting 1 his part. 

Charities' eyes should be open as well as her 
hands. Surely king Edward the Sixth was as truly 
charitable in granting Bridewell for the punish- 
ment of sturdy rogues, as in giving St. Thomas's 
Hospital for the relief of the poor. 

The Pope knows he can catch no fish if the 
waters are clear. 

The Cardinals' eyes in the court of Rome were 
old and dim ; and therefore the glass, wherein 
they see any thing, must be well silvered. 

Many wish that the tree may be felled, who 
hope to gather chips by the fall. 



* From the Holy War. 



292 SELECTIONS 

The Holy Ghost came down, not in the shape 
of a vulture, but in the form of a dove. 

THE SKELETON. 

A naked cage of bone, 
From whence the winged soul long since is flown. 

WISDOM IN ITS OWN CONCEIT. 
Humility is every where preached, and pride 
practised ; they persuade others to labour for 
heaven, and fall out about earth themselves ; their 
lives are contrary to their doctrines, and their 
doctrines one to another. 

THE RELIGION OF MAHOMET, 

It may justly seem admirable how that senseless 
religion should gain so much ground on Chris- 
tianity ; especially having neither real substance 
in her doctrine, nor winning behaviour in her cere- 
monies to allure professors. For what is it but 
the scum of Judaism and Paganism sod together 
and here and there strewed over with a spice of 
Christianity? As Mahomet's tomb, so many 
sentences in his Alcoran seem to hang by some 
secret loadstone, which draweth together their 



FROM DR. FULLER. 



293 



gaping independencies with a mystical coherence, 
or otherwise they are flat nonsense. Yet this 
wonder of the spreading of this leprosy is 
lessened, if we consider that besides the general 
causes of the growing of all errors (namely the 
gangrene-like nature of evil, and the justice of 
God to deliver them over to believe lies who will 
not obey the truth) Mahometanism hath raised 
itself to this height by some peculiar advantages ; 
first, by permitting much carnal liberty to the 
professors (as having many wives) and no wonder 
if they get fish enough that use that bait; se- 
condly, by promising a paradise of sensual plea- 
sure hereafter, wherewith flesh and blood is 
more affected (as falling under her experience) 
then with hope of any spiritual delights ; thirdly, 
by prohibiting of disputes, and suppressing of all 
learning; and thus Mahomet made his shop dark 
on purpose, that he might vend any wares : lastly, 
this religion had never made her own passage so 
fast and so far, if the sword had not cut the way 
before her, as commonly the conquered follow for 
the most part the religion of the conquerors. By 
this means that cursed doctrine hath so improved 
itself, that it may outvie with professors the church 
of Rome, which boasteth so much of her latitude 
and extent ; though from thence to infer that her 



294 



SELECTIONS 



faith is the best, is falsely to conclude the fineness 
of the cloth from the largeness of the measure.* 

DESTRUCTION OF THE CRUSADERS. 
Egypt is a low, level country, except some few 
advantages which the Egyptians had fortified for 
themselves. Through the midst of the land ran 
the river Nilus ; whose stream they had so bridled 
with banks and sluices, that they could keep it 
to be their own servant, and make it their enemies 
master at pleasure. The Christians confidently 
marched on ; and the Turks, perceiving the game 
was come within the toil, pierced their banks, and 
unmuzzling the river, let it run open mouth upon 
them ; yet so, that at first they drowned them up 
but to the middle, reserving their lives for a further 
purpose, thereby in exchange to recover Damiata 
and their country's liberty. See here the land of 
Egypt turned in an instant into the Egyptian sea! 
see an army of sixty thousand, as the neck of one 
man, stretched on the block, and waiting the 
fatal stroke ! 

RELIGIOUS PERSECUTION.! 
Hitherto [A. D. 1428] the corpse of John 
Wickliffe had quietly slept in his grave about 



* Holy War. f From the Church History. 



FROM DR. FULLER. 



295 



forty one years after his death, till his body was 
reduced to bones, and his bones almost to dust. 
For though the earth in the chancel of Lutter- 
worth, in Leicestershire, where he was interred, 
hath not so quick a digestion with the earth of 
Aceldama, to consume flesh in twenty-four hours, 
yet such the appetite thereof, and all other English 
graves, to leave small reversions of a body after so 
many years. But now such the spleen of the 
council of Constance, as they not only cursed his 
memory as dying an obstinate heretic, but ordered 
that his bones (with this charitable caution, — 
if it may be discerned from the bodies of other 
faithful people) be taken out of the ground, and 
thrown far off from any christian burial. In obe- 
dience hereunto, Rich. Fleming, Bishop of Lincoln, 
Diocesan of Lutterworth, sent his officers (vultures 
with a quick sight scent, at a dead carcase) to 
ungrave him. Accordingly to Lutterworth they 
come ; Summer,Commissary, Official, Chancellor, 
Proctors, Doctors, and their servants (so that the 
remnant of the body would not hold out a bone 
amongst so many hands), take what was left out of 
the grave, and burnt them to ashes, and cast them 
into Swift, a neighbouring brook, running hard by, 
Thus this brook hath conveyed his ashes into Avon, 
Avon into Severn, Seyern into the narrow seas, they 



SELECTIONS 



into the main ocean ; and thus the ashes of Wick- 
lifFe are the emblem of his doctrine, which now is 
dispersed all the world over. 

THE GOOD WIFE.* 

She commandeth her husband, in any equal 
matter, by constant obeying him. 

She never crosseth her husband in the spring- 
tide of his anger, but stays till it be ebbing- water. 
Surely men, contrary to iron, are worst to be 
wrought upon when they are hot. 

Her clothes are rather comely then costly, and 
she makes plain cloth to be velvet by her hand- 
some wearing it. 

Her husband's secrets she will not divulge : es- 
pecially she is careful to conceal his infirmities. 

In her husband's absence she is wife and deputy- 
husband, which makes her double the files of her 
diligence. At his return he finds all things so 
well, that he wonders to see himself at home 
when he was abroad. f 



* From the Holy State, 
t In Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy there are twelve 
reasons in favour of marriage, of which the six first are as 
follows : — 

1. Hast thou means ? Thou hast one to keep and increase it. 



FROM DR. FULLER. 



297 



Her children, though many in number, are 
none in noise, steering them with a look whither 
she listeth. 

The heaviest work of her servants she maketh 
light, by orderly and seasonably enjoyning it. 

In her husband's sickness she feels more grief 
than she shews. 

THE GOOD PARENT * 

He continueth the care of his children till the 
day of his death, in their infancy, youth, and 
man's estate. 

He sheweth them in his own practice what to 
follow and imitate; and in others, what to shun 
and avoid. A father that whipt his son for swear- 
ing, and swore himself whilst he whipt him, did 
more harm by his example than good by his 
correction. 

If his son prove wild he doth not cast him 

2. Hast none 1 Thou hast one to help to get it. 

3. Art in prosperity ? Thine happiness is doubled. 

4. Art in adversity 1 She'll comfort, assist, bear a part of 
thy burden, to make it more tolerable. 

5. Art at home 1 She'll drive away melancholy. 

6. Art abroad? She looks after thee, going from home, 
wishes for thee in thine absence and joyfully welcomes 
thy return. 

* From the Holy State. 



298 



SELECTIONS 



off so far, but he marks the place where he lights. 
With the mother of Moses, he doth not suffer his 
son to sink or swim, but he leaves one to stand 
afar off to watch what will become of him. 

He moves him to marriage rather by argument 
drawn from his good, than his own authority. 

In choosing a profession, he is directed by his 
child's disposition. 

He allows his children maintenance according 
to their quality. 

He observeth gavel -kind in dividing his affec- 
tions, though not his estate. 

He doth not give away his loaf to his children 
and then come to them for a piece of bread.* 



* The knowledge that it is the tendency of affection rather 
to descend than to ascend, seems of considerable importance 
in the regulation of parental feeling. Fuller, in his 
chapter on moderation, says, " As love does descend," &c. 
Du Moulin, in his work on Peace and Content, says, e< Of 
children expect no good but the satisfaction to have done 
them good and to see them do well for themselves, for in 
this relation the nature of beneficence is to descend, seldom to 
remount. Bishop Taylor, in his Life of Christ, when speaking 
of mothers who do not suckle their own children, says, " And 
if love descends more strongly than it ascends, and com- 
monly falls from the parents upon the children in cataracts, 
and returns back again up to the parents but in small dews ; 
if the child's affection keeps the same proportions towards 



FROM DR. FULLER. 



299 



THE GOOD SEA CAPTAIN * 
Conceive him now in a man of war, with his 
letters of marque, victualled, and appointed. 

such unkind mothers, it will be as little as atoms in the sun ? 
and never express itself but when the mother needs it not, 
that is in the sunshine of a clear fortune." — Is not the 
expectation, that affection should ascend, often a cause of 
misery ? 

The following extract upon parent and child is from a 
sermon of Ogden's. 

Young people are not sensible how much anguish is 
endured on their account. They run heedlessly forward in 
the broad and open path, and have no thought but of the 
pleasure they are pursuing. Yet stop, young man, we beg 
a little, to look towards thy poor parents. Think it not too 
much to bestow a moment's reflection upon those who 
never forget thee. Recollect what they have done for 
thee. Remember all — all indeed thou canst not : alas ! ill 



* The Sea Captain contains a short Life of Sir Francis 
Drake, and the following anecdote : — Francis Drake conti- 
nued his course for Port-Rico, and riding within the road, 
a shot from the castle entered the steerage of the ship, took 
away the stool from under him as he sate at supper, wounded 
Sir Nicholas Clifford and Brute Brown to death. " Ah dear 
Brute," said Drake, "I could grieve for thee, but now is 
no time for me to let down my spirits." — From the mouth of 
H. Drake, Esq, there present, my dear and worthy parishioner 
lately deceased. 



300 



SELECTIONS 



The more power he hath, the more careful he 
is not to abuse it. Indeed a sea captain is a king 

had been thy lot, had not their care of thee begun before 
thou couldst remember, or know any thing. 

Now so proud, self-willed, inexorable, thou couldst then 
only ask by wailing, and move them with thy tears. And they 
were moved. Their hearts were touched with thy distress ; 
they relieved and watched thy wants, before thou knewest 
thine own necessities or their kindness. They clothed thee : 
thou knewest not that thou wast naked : thou askedst not 
for bread, but they fed thee. And ever since, in short, for 
the particulars are too many to be recounted, and too many 
surely to be all utterly forgotten, it ha3 been the very prin- 
cipal endeavour, employment, and study of their lives to do 
service to thee. 

And remember, for this too is of moment, it is all out of 
pure, unfeigned affection. Other friends mostly expect their 
civilities to be repaid, and their kind offices returned with 
interest. But parents have no thoughts like these. They 
" seek not thine, but thee." Their regard is real, and 
hearty, and undesigning. They have no reflex views upon 
themselves, no oblique glances towards their own interest. 
If by all their endeavours they can obtain their child's wel- 
fare, they arrive at the full accomplishment of their wishes. 
They have no higher object of their ambition. Be thou but 
happy, and they are so. 

And now tell me : is not something to be done, I do not 
now say for thyself, but for them? If it be too much to 
desire of thee to be good, and wise, and virtuous, and happy 
for thy own sake, yet be happy for their's. Think that a 
sober, upright, and let me add, religious life, besides the 



FROM DR FULLER. 301 

in the island of a ship, supreme judge, above 
appeal, in causes civil and criminal, and is seldom 



blessings it will bring upon thy own head, will be a fountain 
of unfailing comfort to thy declining parents, and make the 
heart of the aged sing for joy. 

What shall we say 1 Which of these is happier? the son 
that maketh a glad father? or the father, blessed with such 
a son? 

Fortunate young man ! who hast an heart open so early 
to virtuous delights : and canst find thy own happiness, in 
returning thy father's blessing upon his own head. 

And happy father ! whose years have been prolonged, 
not as it often happens, to see his comforts fall from him one 
after another, and to become at once old and destitute ; but 
to taste a new pleasure, not to be found among the pleasures 
of youth, reserved for his age ; to reap the harvest of all his 
cares and labour in the duty, affection, and felicity of his dear 
child. His very look bespeaks the inward satisfaction of 
his heart. The infirmities of age sit light on him. He feels 
not the troubles of Ufa ; he smiles at the approach of death : 
sees himself still living and honoured in the memory and 
the person of his son, his o;her dearer self: and passes 
down to the receptacle of all the living in the fullness of 
content and joy. 

How unlike to this, is the condition of him who has the 
affliction to be the father of a wicked offspring ! poor un- 
happy man ! no sorrow is like unto thy sorrow. Diseases and 
death are blessings, if compared with the anguish of thy 
heart, when thou seest thy dearest children run heedlessly 
headlong in the ways of sin, forgetful of their parents council 



302 SELECTIONS 

brought to an account in courts of justice on land, 
for injuries done to his own men at sea. 

He is careful in observing the Lord's day. He 
hath a watch in bis heart, though no bells in a 
steeple to proclaim that day by ringing to prayers. 

He is as pious and thankful when a tempest is 
past, as devout when 'tis present; not clamorous 
to receive mercies, and tongue-tied to return 
thanks. Escaping many dangers makes him not 
presumptuous to run into them. 

In taking a prize he most prizeth the men's lives 
whom he takes ; though some of them may chance 
to be negroes or savages. 'Tis the custom of some 
to cast them over-board, and there's an end of 

and their own happiness. Unfortunate old man 1 how 
often does he wish he had never been born, or had been 
cut off before he was a father ! no reflection is able to afford 
him consolation. He grows old betimes : and the afflictions 
of age are doubled on his head. In vain are instruments of 
pleasure brought forth. His soul refuses comfort. Every 
blessing of life is lost upon him. No success is able to give 
him joy. His triumphs are like that of David: While his 
friends, captains, soldiers, were rending the air with shouts 
of victory : he, poor conqueror ! (i went up," as it is written* 
{; to the chamber over the gate, and wept : and as he went, 
thus he said ; my son Absalom ! my son, my son Absalom ! 
would God I had died for thee I Absalom, my son, my 
son ! — Sermon xi. p. 335. 



FROM DR. FULLER. 



303 



them : for the dumb fishes will tell no tales. But 
the murder is not so soon drowned as the man. 
What, is a brother of false blood no kin ; a savage 
hath God to his father by creation, though not the 
church to his mother, and God will revenge his 
innocent blood. But our captain counts the 
image of God, nevertheless his image cut in 
ebony as if done in ivory.* 

In dividing the gains he wrongs none who took 
pains to get them. Not shifting off his poor ma- 
riners with nothing. 

In time of peace he quietly returns home.f 



* Is not this one of the earliest intercessions on behalf of 
the poor slaves ? 

t The hour now approached in which it became necessary 
for General Washington to take leave of his army, who had 
been endeared to him by a long series of common sufferings 
and dangers. The officers having previously assembled, 
General Washington, calling for a glass of wine, thus ad- 
dressed them: — " With a heart full of love and gratitude, I 
now take leave of you : I most devoutly wish that your latter 
days may be as prosperous and happy as your former ones 
have been glorious and honorable.'* The officers came up 
successively, and he took an affectionate leave of each of 
them. The General then left the room and passed through the 
corps of light infantry to the place of embarkation, the officers 
all following him. On his entering the barge to cross the 
North river, he turned towards the companions of his glory. 



304 



SELECTIONS 



His voyages are not only for profit, but some 
for honor and knowledge.* 



and by waring his hat, bid them farewell. Some answered 
this last signal of respect and affection with tears, and all 
hung upon the barge which conveyed him from their sight 
till they could no longer distinguish in it the person of their 
beloved commander. — Ramsey's America, 

*This is common to all professions : " I hold," says Lord 
Bacon, "that every man is a debtor to his profession, from 
the which, as men do of course seek to receive countenance 
and profit, so ought they of duty to endeavour themselves 
by way of amends, to be a help and ornament thereunto." 
And Sir Edward Coke, differing as he did from Lord Bacon 
upon all subjects, except the advancement of their noble pro- 
fession, expresses the same sentiment almost in the same 
words. " If this," he says, " or any other of my works, 
may in any sort, by the goodness of Almighty God, who 
hath enabled me hereunto, tend to some discharge of tha fc 
great obligation of duty wherein I am bound to my profession, 
I shall reap some fruits from the tree of life, and I shall 
receive sufficient compensation for all my labours." 

Similar sentiments influenced Sir Matthew Hale, and 
Harvey, and Syndenham. 

This arises out of the social part of our nature ; thus beauti- 
fully described in a IMS. sermon in my possession : — " There 
is a part of human nature which draws man asunder from his 
fellow and engages him with his own peculiar interests and 
affairs ; which isolates him and arms him in his own behalf : 
out of which grows the feeling of property, and personal right 
and also of justice ; and from the excess of which cometh 



FROM DR.. FULLER. 305 

He daily sees, and duly considers God's won- 
ders in the deep. 

cunning, and every form of malice and malignity. And to 
work against this and hinder it from these fearful issues, there 
is another part of human nature which draws him to his 
kind, makes him thirst for fellowship and communion with 
kindred spirits, and which binds him in a thousand associa- 
tions, out of which arise some of the most exquisite enjoy- 
ments of his life. A principle of attraction and communica- 
tion diverse from and opposite to the other, by which he is 
carried from himself, and made to have pleasure in the 
giving to others, that which by his own personal industry he 
hath acquired. Is knowledge that upon which he hath set his 
heart ? Then he removes himself from affairs, and shuts him- 
self up from company, and subjecteth youthful passions, and 
abstracteth himself from places of youthful gaiety and folly, 
that he may dig the mines of knowledge, which are richer 
than the mines of gold; carrying on the merchandise of 
wisdom, which is better than the merchandise of silver ; — 
and thereto he hath the convenience of a college cell, within 
gates which are shut betimes, as carefully as a besieged city, 
it being well thought by the fathers and founders of learning 
that the outward world is not more adverse to knowledge 
than to true religion. Here he trims his midnight lamp, 
and paleth the bloom of his youthful cheek ; he stinteth 
himself of sleep, his books are his silent companions ; the 
thoughts of the learned are his banquet, — his inward man 
engrosses him, — his outward man often altogether neglected, 
— health itself hardly cared for, while he is passing through 
this chrysalis state of the mind, and obtaining for his soul 

X 



306 



SELECTIONS 



OF JESTING. 
It is good to make a jest, but not to make a 
trade of jesting. The Earl of Leicester knowing 

that plumage, which shall bear it into the regions of thought 
and fancy, hitherto unexplored, and reward him with disco- 
veries hitherto unknown, and weave a chaplet of laurel for his 
brow, and bequeath unto his name an immortality of fame. 
But if I keep my eye on this bookworm, and follow him 
onward through the more advanced stage of knowledge, then 
I perceive the selfish, avaricious, and monopolizing feeling 
which moved him to such sacrifice of his pleasure and health, 
begin to abate as he becomes well fraught and stored ; and 
as if God used his soul for a transport vessel, which doubtless 
he doth, he is driven with his spirit full of knowledge, to carry 
the same abroad, to communicate it to his fellows; he no 
sooner discovers truth than he hastens to reveal it ; he no 
sooner detects errors than he hastens to warn the world of 
them, — he joins himself to the societies of the learned, — he 
enters into fellowships, and acadamies, and colleges, — he 
meditates in his mind and stirs up his thoughts, hs writes 
books and communicates his gathered knowledge to all man- 
kind ; so that, in the first instance, while there is nothing so 
avaricious as the spirit of knowledge, there is in the next 
instance nothing so generous. It reveals without being put 
to the question. It bestows without being besought. The 
more precious its discoveries, the more it hastens to make 
them common. If, again, I consider the pursuit of wealth, 
then I perceive a like correspendence of the selfish and the 
social. The merchant and tradesman are indefatigable. 



FROM DR. FULLER. 



307 



that Queen Elizabeth was much delighted to see 
a gentleman dance well, brought the master of a 



making the most of every occasion, and driving every bar- 
gain with as much nicety as if their all was at stake. They 
measure with exactness, — they weigh out scrupulously. They 
gather up the remnants of things and suffer nothing to be lost, 
— they introduce an economy of time into their business, 
almost as if every day were the last; — they lay off the several 
branches, each to a several hand, and there they ply at their 
departments with a haste and with an accuracy, which nothing 
can surpass. Their books are kept like the book of fate ; every 
man's account is there as if it were the book of divine remem- 
brance :— not an error through the whole can escape their 
view, and when the balance is struck it turns out as just and 
exact to the uttermost farthing. And to see the house in the 
work of accumulation, you would suppose every one a nig- 
gard and a miser who could part with nothing, and who could 
not bear that anything should be lost. But this is only half 
the man ; to know him wholly you must see the other half 
likewise in action. Follow him from his workshop to his 
house, and you will see a spirit of profusion equalled only by 
the spirit of accumulation, and often to his cost not equalled 
by that. Here is generosity in every form. It is lavished 
on elegancies of the house, on attendants, on equipage, on 
sensual enjoyments, on magnificent schemes of pleasure, on 
charities, on subscriptions, on every profuse, liberal, and 
noble undertaking. Insomuch that these men who in the 
morning gathered with a hundred hands, in the evening 
scatter with a hundred hands that which they gathered ; and 
are under the providence of God but ^instruments for 



308 



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dancing school to dance before her. " Pish,'' said 
the Queen, " it is his profession, I will not see 
him." 

Wanton jests make fools laugh, and wise men 
frown. 

Jest not with the two edged sword of God's 
word. Will nothing please thee to wash thy 
hands in but the font, or to drink healths in but 
the church chalice ?* 

Let not thy jests, like mummy, be made of dead 
men's flesh. Abuse not any that are departed, 
for to wrong their memories is to rob their ghosts 
of their winding sheets. 

Scoff not at the natural defects of any which are 

changing the current of his beneficence, for gathering it where 
otherwise it would be wasted, and bestowing it where other- 
wise it would not be had. He gathered it at a thousand 
fountains, as the streams which come out of the recesses of a 
thousand solitudes are gathered into one lake; then he dis- 
penseth it through the fertile places of society, and setteth in 
action, or engageth a thousand departments of business, just 
as if you should sluice off that lake into a thousand rills, with 
each of which to fertalize a productive field, or give force to 
the wheel of some more active machine. E. I. 

* As for jest, there be certain things which ought to be 
privileged from it ; namely religion, matters of state, great 
persons, any man's present business of importance, and any 
case that deserveth pity, Lord Bacon. 



FROM DR. FULLER. 



309 



not in their power to amend. Oh! 'tis cruelty 
to beat a cripple with his own crutches. 

No time to break jests when the heart-strings 
are about to be broken. 

He that will lose his friend for a jest, deserves 
to die a beggar by the bargain. 

OF TRAVELLING. 
Travel not early, before thy judgment be 
risen ; lest thou observest rather shows than 
substance. 

Get the language (in part) without which key 
thou shalt unlock little of moment. 

Know most of the rooms of thy native country 
before thou goest over the threshold thereof. 

Travel not beyond the Alps. Mr. Ascham did 
thank God that he was but nine days in Italy, 
wherein he saw in one city (Venice) more liberty 
to sin than in London he ever heard of in nine 
years.* 



* I was once in Italy myself : but I thank God my abode 
there was but nine days ; and yet I saw in that little time, in 
one city, more liberty to sin, than ever I heard tell of in 
our noble city of London in nine years. I saw, it was there 
as free to sin, not only without all punishment, but also without 
any man's marking, as it is free in the city of London, to 



310 



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To travel from the sun is uncomfortable. Yet 
the northern parts with much ice have some 
crystal. 

If thou wilt see much in a little, travel the Low 
Counties. Holland is ail Europe in an Amsterdam 
print. 

Be wise in choosing objects, diligent in marking, 
careful in remembering of them. Yet herein men 
much follow their own humours. One asked a 



choose without all blame, whether a man list to wear shoe^or 
pantofle. And good cause why : for being unlike in truth of 
religion, they must needs be unlike in honesty of living. For, 
blessed be Christ, in our city of London, commonly the com- 
mandments of God be more diligently taught, and the service 
of God more reverently used, and that daily in many private 
men's houses, than they be in Italy once a week in their com- 
mon churches : where making ceremonies to delight the eye, 
and vain sounds to please the ear, do quite thrust out of 
the churches all service of God in spirit and in truth. Yea, 
the Lord Mayor of London, being but a civil officer, is com- 
monly for his time, more diligent in punishing sin, the bent 
enemy against God and good order, than all the bloody in- 
quisitors in Italy be in seven years. For their care and 
charge is, not to punish sin, not to amend manners, not to 
purge doctrine, but only to watch and oversee that Christ's 
true religion set no sure footing where the Pope has any 
jurisdiction, 

ASCHAM. 



FROM DR. FULLER. 



311 



barber who never before had been at the court, 
what he saw there ? " Oh," said he, " the king was 
excellently well trimmed f 

Labour to distil and unite into thyself the 
scattered perfections of several nations. Many 
weed foreign countries, bringing home Dutch 
drunkenness, Spanish pride, French wantonness, 
and Italian Atheism ; as for the good herbs, Dutch 
industry, Spanish loyalty, French courtesy, and 
Italian frugality, these they leave behind them ; 
others bring home just nothing; and, because 
they singled not themselves from their countrymen, 
though some years beyond sea, were never out of 
England, 

OF COMPANY. 

Company is one of the greatest pleasures of 
the nature of man. 

It is unnatural for a man to court and hug 
solitariness. Yet a desart is better than a de- 
bauched companion. The Nazarites who might 
drink no wine were also forbidden to eat grapes 
whereof wine is made. 

If thou beest cast into bad company like Her- 
cules, thou must sleep with thy club in thine hand 
and stand on thy guard ; like the river Dee in Me- 



312 



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rionethshire, in Wales, which running through 
Pimble Meer 3 remains entire and mingles not her 
streams with the waters of the lake. 

The company he keeps is the comment by help 
whereof men expound the most close and mys- 
tical man. Caesar came thus to discern his two 
daughters' inclinations, for being once at a public 
show, where much people was present, he ob- 
served that the grave senators talked with Livia, 
but loose youngsters and riotous persons with 
Julia. 



OF MEMORY. 
It is the treasure-house of the mind, wherein 
the monuments thereof are kept and preserved. 
Plato makes it the mother of the Muses. Aris- 
totle sets it one degree further, making expe- 
rience the mother of arts, memory the parent 
of experience. Philosophers place it in the 
rear of the head; and it seems the mine of me- 
mory lies there, because there naturally men 
dig for it, scratching it when they ai;e at a loss. 
This again is twofold : one, the simple retention 
of things ; the other, a regaining them when 
forgotten. 

Brute creatures equal if not exceed men in 



FROM DR. FULLER. 



313 



a bare retentive memory. Through how many 
labyrinths of woods, without other clue of thread 
than natural instinct, doth the hunted hare return 
to her meuse? How doth the little bee, flying 
into several meadows and gardens, sipping of 
many cups, yet never intoxicated, through an 
ocean (as I may say) of air, steadily steer herself 
home, without help of card or compass. But 
these cannot play an aftergame, and recover what 
they have forgotten, which is done by the medi- 
ation of discourse. 

Artificial memory is rather a trick than an 
art, and more for the gain of the teacher than 
profit of the learners. Like the tossing of a pike, 
which is no part of the postures and motions 
thereof, and is rather for ostentation than use, to 
shew the strength and nimbleness of the arm, and 
is often used by wandering soldiers, as an intro- 
duction to beg. Understand it of the artificial 
rules which at this day are delivered by memory 
mountebanks ; for sure an art thereof may be 
made (wherein as yet the world is defective) and 
that no more destructive to natural memory than 
spectacles are to eyes, which girls in Holland wear 
from twelve years of age. But till this be found 
out, let us observe these plain rules. 

First, soundly infix in thy mind what thou 



314 



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desirest to remember. What wonder is it if agi- 
tation of business jog that out of thy head, which 
was there rather tacked than fastened ? whereas 
those notions which get in by " violentapossessio," 
will abide there till " ejectio firma," sickness, or 
extreme age, dispossess them. It is best knocking 
in the nail over night, and clinching it the next 
morning. 

Overburthen not thy memory to make so 
faithful a servant a slave. Remember Atlas was 
weary. Have as much reason as a camel, to rise 
when thou hast thy full load. Memory, like a purse, 
if it be over full that it cannot shut, all will drop 
out of it : take heed of a gluttonous curiosity to 
feed on many things, lest the greediness of the 
appetite of thy memory, spoil the digestion thereof. 
Beza's case was peculiar and memorable ; being 
above fourscore years of age, he perfectly could 
say by heart any Greek chapter in St. Paul's 
epistles, or any thing else which he had learnt long 
before, but forgot whatsoever was newly told him ; 
his memory, like an inn, retaining old guests, but 
having no room to entertain new. 

Spoil not thy memory by thine own jealousy 
nor make it bad by suspecting it. How canst 
thou find that true which thou wilt not trust? 
St. Augustine tells us of his friend Simplicius, who 



FROM DR. FULLER. 



315 



being asked, could tell all Virgil's verses back- 
ward and forward, and yet the same party avowed 
to God, that he knew not that he could do it till 
they did try him. Sure there is concealed strength 
in men's memories, which they take no notice of. 

Marshall thy notions into a handsome me- 
thod. One will carry twice more weight trussed 
and packed up in bundles, then when it lies un- 
toward flapping aud hanging about his shoulders. 
Things orderly fardled up under heads are most 
portable. 

Adventure not all thy learning in one bot- 
tom, but divide it betwixt thy memory and thy 
note-books. He that with Bias carries all his 
learning about him in his head, will utterly be 
beggered and bankrupt, if a violent disease, a 
merciless thief, should rob and strip him. I know 
some have a common-place against common- 
place-books, and yet perchance will privately make 
use of what they publicly declaim against. 
A common-place-book contains many notions in 
garrison, whence the owner may draw out an army 
into the field on competent warning. 

Moderate diet and good air preserve me- 
mory ; but what air is best I dare not define, 
when such great ones differ. Some say a pure 
and subtle air is best, another commends a thick 



316 



SELFXTIONS 



and foggy air. For the Pisans scited in the fens 
and marshes of Arnus have excellent memories, 
as if the foggy air were a cap for their heads. 

Thankfulness to God for it continues the me- 
mory;* whereas some proud people have been 
visited with such oblivion, that they have for- 
gotten their own names. Staupitius, tutor to 



* Dr. Fuller had an extraordinary memory. He could 
name in order the signs on both sides .the way from the 
beginning of Paternoster-row at Ave-Maria-Lane to the 
bottom of Cheapside. He could dictate to five several 
amanuenses at the same time, and each on a different sub- 
ject. The doctor making a visit to the commitcee of seques- 
trators sitting at Waltham, in Essex, they soon fell into a 
discourse and commendation of his great memory ; to which 
he replied ; " 'Tis true, gentleman, that fame has given me 
the report of a memorist, and, if you please, I will give you 
an experiment of it." They all accepted the motion, and 
told him they should look upon it as an obligation, praying 
him to begin. " Gentlemen," says he, " I will give you an 
instance of my memory in the particular business in which 
you are employed. Your worships have thought fit to se- 
quester an honest, but poor cavalier parson, my neighbour, 
from his living, and committed him to prison \ he has a large 
family of children, and his circumstances are but indifferent ; 
if you will please to release him out of prison, and restore 
him to his living, I will never forget the kindness while I 
live ?" 



FROM DR. FULLER. 



317 



Luther, and a godly man, in a vain ostentation 
of his memory, repeated Christ's genealogy by 
heart in his sermon, but being out about the 
captivity of Babylon, I see, saith he, God re- 
sisteth the proud, and so betook himself to his 
book. 

Abuse not thy memory to be sin's register, nor 
make advantage thereof for wickedness. Excel- 
lently* Augustine, " Quidam vero pessimi me- 



* In the Novum "Qrganum of Lord Bacon, the subject of 
memory is under the article " Constituent Instances," beau- 
tifully analized. It may be thus exhibited: The Art of 
Memory consists, 1st. In making a strong impression. 2nd, 
In recalling the impression when made. 

In the art of making strong impressions the state of the 
inind of the patient, and the conduct of the agent, are to be 
duly regarded. The state of the patient's mind apt to receive 
impressions, is when the mind is free, as in youth ; or when 
the mind is exerted by some powerful cause excluding all 
alien thoughts, as boys to remember the boundaries of a parish 
are struck by the officer. The art of the agent in producing 
strong impressions, depends, 1st. Upon variety of impres- 
sion, as by verse and prose ; algebraic and geometric proofs 
of the same proposition : and 2ndly. Slowness of impression, 
as great wits have short memories. 

The art of recalling a given impression consists, 1st. In 
cutting off infinity, as in hunting the fallow deer in a park 
instead of a forest : and 2nd. By reducing intellectual 



318 



SELECTIONS 



moria sunt mirabili, qui tan to pejores sunt, quanto 
minus possunt, quas male cogitant, oblivisci. 

OF FANCY.* 
It is an inward sense of the soul, for a while 
retaining and examining things brought in thither 
be the common sense. It is the most boundless 
and restless faculty of the soul; for whilst the un- 
derstanding and the will are kept as it were in 
" libera custodia," to their objects of " verum et 
bonum," the fancy is free from all engagements ; 
it digs without spade, sails without ship, flies 
without wings, builds without charges, fights with- 
out bloodshed, in a moment striding from the 
centre to the circumference of the world, by a kind 

to sensible things : as the image of a huntsman pursuing a hare 
for invention. 

Infinity is cut off first by order : according to the 6th maxim 
of Fuller. 2nd. By places for artificial memory: as painted 
windows of birds, beasts, plants, men, &c. for different sorts 
of natural history. 3rd. By technical memory, according to 
maxim 2 of Fuller, as the word vibgyor for the prismatic 
colours. 

There are also some valuable observations upon memory in 
Bacon's Advancement of Learning, where he divides the 
science of the understanding into, 1. Invention. 2 Judgment. 
3. Memory. 4. Delivery. 

* See note Y at the end on the Pleasures of Imagination. 



FROM DR. FULLER. 



319 



of omnipotence creating and annihilating things 
in an instant ; and things divorced in nature are 
married in fancy, as in a lawful place. It is also 
most restless: whilst the senses are bound and 
reason in a manner asleep, fancy like a sentinel 
walks the round, ever working, never wearied. 
The chief diseases of the fancy are, either that 
they are too wild and high- soaring, or else too low 
and grovelling, or else too desultory and overvolu- 
able. Of the first, 

1. If thy fancy be but a little too rank, age 
itself will correct it. To lift too high is no fault 
in a young horse, because with travelling he will 
mend it for his own ease. Thus lofty fancies 
in young men will come down of themselves, and 
in process of time the overplus will shrink to be 
but even measure. But if this will not do it ob- 
serve these rules. 

2. Take part always with thy judgment against 
thy fancy in any thing wherein they shall dissent. 
If thou suspectest thy conceits too luxuriant, herein 
account thy suspicion a legal conviction, and damn 
whatsoever thou doubtest of. " Warily Tully, 
bene monent, qui vetant quicquam facere, de quo 
dubitas, aequum sit an iniquum." 

3. Take the advice of a faithful friend, and 
submit thy inventions to his censure. When thou 



320 



SELECTIONS 



pennest an oration, let him have the power of 
" index expurgatorius," to expunge what he 
pleaseth; and do not thou, like a fond mother, 
cry if the child of thy brain be corrected for 
playing the wanton. Mark the arguments and 
reasons of his alterations, why that phrase leas^ 
proper, this passage more cautious and advised, 
and after a while thou shalt perform the place in 
thine own person, and not go out of thyself for a 
censurer. If thy fancy be too low and humble, 

4. Let thy judgment be king but not tyrant 
over it, to condemn harmless, yea, commendable 
conceits. Some for fear their orations should 
giggle will not let them smile. Give it also liberty 
to rove, for it will not be extravagant. There is 
no danger that weak folks if they walk abroad will 
straggle far, as wanting strength. 

5. Acquaint thyself with reading poets, for 
there fancy is in her throne ; and in time the 
sparks of the author's wit will catch hold on the 
reader, and inflame him with love, liking, and 
desire of imitation. I confess there is more re- 
quired to teach one to write than to see a copy : 
however there is a secret, force of fascination in 
reading poems to raise and provoke fancy. If 
thy fancy be over voluble, then 

6. Whip this vagrant home to the first object 



FROM DR. FULLER. 



321 



wherein it should be selected. Indeed nimble- 
ness is the perfection of this faculty, but levity the 
bane of it. Great is the difference betwixt a swift 
horse and a skittish, that will stand on no ground. 
Such is the ubiquitary fancy, which will keep long 
residence on no one subject, but is so courteous 
to strangers that it ever welcomes that conceit 
most which comes last ; and new species supplant 
the old ones, before seriously considered. If this 
be the fault of the fancy, I say whip it home to 
the first object, wherein it should be settled. This 
do as often as occasion requires, and by degrees 
the fugitive servant will learn to abide by his work 
without running away. 

Acquaint thyself by degrees with hard and knotty 
studies, as school-divinity, which will clog thy 
overnimble fancy. True, at the first it will be 
as welcome to thee as a prison, and their very so- 
lutions will seem knots unto thee. But take not 
too much at once, lest thy brain turn edge. 
Taste it first as a potion for physic, and by 
degrees thou shalt drink it as beer for thirst : 
practice will make it pleasant. Mathematics are 
also good for this purpose : if beginning to try a 
conclusion, thou must make an end, lest thou 
loseth thy pains that are past, and must proceed 
seriously and exactly. I meddle not with those 

Y 



322 



SELECTIONS 



Bedlam-fancies, all whose conceits are antique, 
but leave them for the physician to purge with 
hellebore.* 



* Upon the art of obtaining- mastery over the mind which 
is of such importance in the conduct of the understanding, 
there are various observations in Lord Bacon's works, as 
follows : — 

Let the mind be daily employed upon some subjects from 
which it is averse. 

Bear ever toward the contrary of that whereunto you are 
by nature inclined, that you may bring the mind straight 
from its warp. Like as when we row against the stream, 
or when we make a crooked wand straight, by bending it 
the contrary way. 

INSTANTLY STUDY WHEN THE DISPOSITION TO STUDY APPEARS. 

As in the improvement of the understanding, the mind 
ought always to be employed on some subject from which it 
is averse, that it may obtain the mastery o^er itself : so two 
seasons are chiefly to be observed, the one when the mind 
is best disposed to a business, the other when it is worst, 
that by the one, we may be well forward on our way : by 
the latter we may by a strenuous contention work out the 
knots and stondes of the mind, and make it pliant for other 
occasions. 

ENGAGE IN STUDIES OPPOSITE TO THE FAVOURITE PURSUIT. 

Histories make men wise ; poetry, witty \ the mathema- 
tics, subtle : natural philosophy, deep j moral, grave ; logic, 
and rhetoric, able to contend. w Abeunt studia in mores." 



FROM DR. FULLER. 



323 



To clothe low-creeping- matter with high-flown 
language is not fine fancy, but flat foolery. It 



Nay, there is no stoncl or impediment in the wit, but may be 
wrought out by fit studies. Like as diseases of the body 
may have appropriated exercises ; bowling is good for the 
stone and reins ; shooting for the lungs and breast ; gentle 
walking for the stomach ; riding for the head and the like. 
So if a man's wit be wandering, let him study mathematics ; 
for in demonstrations, if his wit be called away, never so 
little, he must begin again. If his wit be not apt to distin- 
guish or find differences, let him study the schoolmen ; for 
they are " Cymini sectores." If he be not apt to beat over 
matters, and to call up one thing to prove and illustrate 
another, let him study the lawyers' cases ; so every defect 
of the mind may have a special receipt. 

STUDY BY TIME. 

In studies whatsoever a man commandeth upon himself, 
let him set hours for it ; but whatsoever is agreeable to his 
nature, let him take no care for any set hours, for his 
thoughts will fly to it of themselves. 

Dr. Johnson said, " if a man never has an eager desire 
for instruction he should prescribe a task for himself : if he 
has a science to learn he must regularly and resolutely 
advance." 

FORM THE HABIT OF FIXEDNESS. 

Burke always read a book, as if he were never to see it 
again. Newton used to say, that if there were any differ- 
ence between him and other men, it consisted in his fixing 
his eye steadily on the object which he had in view, and 



SELECTIONS 



rather loads than raises a wren, to fasten the fea- 
thers of an ostrich to her wing's. Some men's 
speeches are like the high mountains in Ireland, 
having a dirty bog in the top of them; the very 



waiting patiently for every idea as it presented itself, with- 
out wandering or hurrying. 

ENGAGE IN STUDIES THAT WILL NOT ADMIT MENTAL 
ABERRATION. 

Men do not sufficiently understand the excellent use of 
the pure mathematics, in that they do remedy and cure 
many defects in the wit and faculties intellectual For if 
the wit be too dull, they sharpen it ; if too wandering, they 
fix it ; if too inherent in the sense, they abstract it. So 
that as tennis is a game of nq use in itself, but of great use 
in respect it maketh a quick eye and a body ready to put 
into all postures : so in the mathematics, that use which 
is collateral and intervenient is no less worthy than that 
wnich is principal and intended. 

This is to be exactly observed, that not only exceeding 
great progression may be made in those studies, to which 
a man is swayed by a natural proclivity : but also that there 
may be found, in studies properly selected for that purpose, 
cures and remedies to promote such kind of knowledge to 
the impressions whereof a man may, by some imperfection 
of nature, be most unapt and insufficient. As for example, 
if a man be bird-witted, that is, quickly carried away, and 
hath not patient faculty of attention; the mathematics give 
a remedy thereunto ; wherein, if the wit be caught away 
out lor a moment, the demonstration is new to begin. 



FROM DR. FULLER. 



325 



ridge of them in high words having nothing of 
worth, but what rather stalls than delights the 
auditor.* 



* See Wordsworth's Preface to his Lyrical Bal- 
lads, in which he says, " long as I have detained my reader, 
I hope he will permit me to caution him against a mode of 
false criticism which has been applied to poetry, in which 
the language closely resembles that of life and nature. Such 
verses have been triumphed over in parodies of which Dr. 
Johnson's stanza is a fair specimen : — 
*' I put my hat upon my head 

And walked into the Strand, 

And there I met another man 

Whose hat was in his hand." 
Immediately under these lines I will place one of the 
mo3t justly- admired stanzas of the 11 Babes in the Wood." 
" These pretty babes with hand in hand 

Went wandering up and down ; 

But never more they saw the man 

Approaching from the town." 
In both these stanzas the words, and the order of the words, 
in no respect differ from the most unimpassioned conversa- 
tion. There are words in both, for example, " the Strand," 
and " the Town," connected with none but the most fami- 
liar ideas ; yet the one stanza we admit as admirable, and 
the other as a fair example of the superlatively contemptible. 
Whence arises this difference? not from the metre, not 
from the language, not from the order of the words: 
but the matter expressed in Dr. Johnson's stanza is con- 



326 



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Fine fancies in manufactures invent engines 
rather pretty than useful ; and commonly one 
trade is too narrow for them. They are better to 
project new ways than to prosecute old, and are 
rather skilful in many mysteries than thriving in 
one. They affect not voluminous inventions, 
wherein many years must constantly be spent to 
perfect them ; except there be in them variety of 
pleasant employment. 

Imagination (the work of the fancy) hath 
produced real effects. Many serious and sad ex- 
amples hereof may be produced : I will only 
insist on a merry one. A gentleman having led 
a company of children beyond their usual journey, 
they began to be weary, and jointly cried to him 



temptible. The proper method of treating trivial and 
simple verses, to which Dr. Johnson's stanza would be a fair 
parallelism, is not to say, this is a bad kind of poetry : or this 
is not poetry ; but this wants sense ; it is neither interesting 
in itself, nor can lead to any thing interesting : the images 
neither originate in that sane state of feeling which arises 
out of thought, nor can excite thought or feeling in the 
reader. This is the only sensible manner of dealing with 
such verses. Why trouble yourself about the species till 
you have previously decided upon the genus 1 why take 
pains to prove that an ape is not a Newton, when it is self- 
evident that he is not a man 1 



FROM DR. FULLER. 



327 



to carry them ; which, because of their multitude, 
he could not do, but told them he would provide 
them horses to ride on. Then cutting little wands 
out of the hedge as nags, for them, and a great 
stake as a gelding for himself; thus mounted, 
fancy put mettle into their legs, and they came 
cheerfully home. 

Fancy runs most furiously when a guilty 
conscience drives it. One that owed much money, 
and had many creditors, as he walked London 
streets in the evening, a tenterhook catched his 
cloak, " At whose suit?" said he, conceiving some 
bailiff had arrested him. Thus guilty consciences 
are afraid where no fear is, and count every crea- 
ture they meet a Serjeant sent from God to punish 
them. 

MISCELLANEOUS 

Gravity is the ballast of the soul. 

Learning hath gained most by those books by 
which the printers have lost. 

He shall be immortal who liveth till he be 
stoned by one without fault. 

Is there no way to bring home a wandering 
sheep but by worrying him to death ? 

Contentment consisteth not in adding more 
fuel, but in taking away some fire. 



328 



SELECTIONS, &c. 



It is the worst clandestine marriage when God 
is not invited to it. 

Deceive not thyself by over-expecting happiness 
in the married state. Look not therein for con- 
tentment greater than God will give, or a creature 
in this world can receive, namely to be free from 
all inconveniences. Marriage is not like the hill 
Olympus, wholly clear, without clouds. Re- 
member the nightingales which sing only some 
months in the spring, but commonly are silent 
when they have hatched their eggs, as if their 
mirth were turned into care for their young ones. 

Neither choose all, nor not at all for beauty. 
They tell us of a floating island in Scotland; 
but sure no wise pilot will cast anchor there. 

Moderation is the silken string running through 
the pearl-chain of all virtues. 



SIR THOMAS BROWN. 

"I wonder and admire his entireness in every subject 
that is before him. He follows it, he never wanders from 
it, and he has no occasion to wander ; for whatever happens 
to be the subject, he metamorphoses all nature into it. In that 
treatise on some urns dug up in Norfolk, how earthy, how 
redolent of graves and sepulchres is every line ! You have 
now dark mold, now a thigh bone, now a skull, then a bit of 
a mouldered coffin, a fragment of an old tomb-stone with 
moss in its " Hie jacet," a ghost or a winding sheet, or the 
echo of a funeral psalm wafted on a November wind ; and 
the gayest thing you shall meet with shall be a silver nail or 
a gilt " Anno Domini," from a perished coffin top." 

C. L. 



SELECTIONS. 



THE PROTESTANT AND CATHOLIC. 
There is between us one common name and 
appellation, one faith and necessary body of prin- 
ciples common to us both ; and therefore I am 
not scrupulous to converse and live with them, to 
enter their churches in defect of ours, and either 
pray with them or for them ; I could never per- 
ceive any rational consequence from those many 
texts which prohibit the children of Israel to 
pollute themselves with the temples of the 
Heathens, we being all Christians and not 
divided by such detested impieties as mi^ht pro- 
fane our prayers or the place wherein we make 
them, or that a resolved conscience may not 
adore her Creator anywhere, especially in places 
devoted to his service : where, if their devotions 
offend him, mine may please him ; if theirs pro- 
fane it, mine may hallow it ; holv water and 
crucifix (dangerous to the common people) 
deceive not my judgment nor abuse my de- 
votion at all : I am, I confess, naturally inclined 
to that, which misguided zeal terms superstition ; 



332 



SELECTIONS 



my coram on conversation I do acknowledge 
austere; my behaviour full of rigour, sometimes 
not without morosity ; yet at my devotion I love 
to use the civility of my knee, my hat, and hand, 
with all those outward and sensible motions, which 
may express or promote my invisible devotion. I 
should violate my own arm rather than a church, 
nor willingly deface thememory of saint or martyr. 
At the sight of a cross or crucifix I can dispense 
with my hat, but scarce with the thought or me- 
mory of m} Saviour; I cannot laugh at, but 
rather pity the fruitless journeys of pilgrims, or 
contemn the miserable condition of friars ; for 
though misplaced in circumstances, there is some- 
thing in it of devotion. I could never hear the 
Ave Maria bell without an elevation, or think 
it a sufficient warrant, because they erred in one 
circumstance, for me to err in all, that is, in 
silence and dumb contempt ; whilst therefore they 
direct their devotions to her, I offered mine to 
God, and rectify the errors of their prayers by 
rightly ordering mine own. 

I could never divide myself from any man upon 
the difference of an opinion ; or be angry with 
his judgment for not agreeing with me in that, 
from which perhaps, within a few days, I should 
dissent myself. 



FROM SIR THOMAS BROWN. 333 

It is as uncharitable a point in us to fall upon 
those popular scurrilities and opprobrious scoffs 
of the Bishop of Rome, to whom as a temporal 
prince, we owe the duty of good language ; I 
confess there is cause of passion between us ; by 
his sentence I stand excommunicated, heretic is 
the best language he affords me, yet can no ear 
witness I ever returned to him the name of anti- 
christ, man of sin, or whore of Babylon; it is the 
method of charity to suffer without reaction ; 
those usual satyrs, and invectives of the pulpit 
may perchance produce a good effect on the 
vulgar, whose ears are opener to rhetoric than 
logic, yet do they in no wise confirm the faith of 
wiser believers, who know that a good cause 
needs not to be patroned by passion, but can sus- 
tain itself upon a temperate dispute. 

THE STUDENT. 
The world was made to be inhabited by beasts, 
but studied and contemplated by man : tis the 
debt of our reason we owe unto God, and the 
homage we pay for not being beasts ; without 
this the world is still as though it had not been, 
or as it was before the sixth day when as yet there 
was not a creature that could conceive, or say 



SELECTIONS 



there was a world. The wisdom of God receives 
small honour from those vulgar heads that rudely 
stare about, and with a gross rusticity admire his 
works : those highly magnify him whose judicious 
enquiry into his acts, and deliberate research into 
his creatures, return the duty of a devout and 
learned admiration.* 

DEFORMITY. 
I hold there is general beauty in the works of 
God, and therefore no deformity in any kind or spe- 
cies of creature whatsoever ; I cannot tell by what 
logic we call a toad, a bear, or an elephant ugly, 
they being created in those outward shapes and 
figures which best express those actions of their 
inward forms. And having past that general vi- 
sitation of God, who saw that all that he had 
made was good, that is, conformable to his will, 
which abhors deformity, and is the rule of order 
and beauty; there is no deformity but in mon- 



* Man is placed on this stage of the world, to view 
the several natures and actions of the creatures not idly as 
they view us. 

" The things," says Boyle, u for which I hold life valu- 
able are the satisfaction that accrues from the improvement 
of knowledge and the exercise of piety. 



FROM SIR THOMAS BROWN. 335 



strocity, wherein, notwithstanding there is a kind 
of beauty, nature so ingeniously contriving the 
irregular parts, as they become sometimes more 
remarkable than the principle fabric. To speak 
yet more narrowly, there was never anything 
ugly, or misshapen, but the chaos ; wherein 
notwithstanding, to speak strictly, there was no 
deformity, because no form, nor was it yet im- 
pregnant by the voice of God.* 



* An Emperor of Germany coming by chance, on a 
Sunday, into a church, found there a most misshapen priest 
" pene porten turn naturae," insomuch as the Emperor scorned 
and contemned him. But when he heard him read those words 
in the service, " For it is he that hath made us, and not we 
ourselves," the Emperor checked his own proud thoughts, 
and made inquiry into the quality and condition of the man : 
and finding him, on examination, most learned and devout, 
he made him Archbishop of Colen, which place he did ex- 
cellently discharge. — Fuller's Holy State, 

In Love's Labour Lost, there is the following dialogue 
between Rosalind and Biron. 

Bos. Oft have I heard of you, my Lord Biron, 
Before I saw you , and the world's large tongue 
Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks ; 
Full of comparisons and wounding flouts, 
Which you on all estates will execute, 
That lye within the mercy of your wit : 
To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain, 
And there withal to win me, if you please, 



336 SELECTIONS 



NATURE AND ART. 

Nature is not at variance with art ; nor art with 
nature ; they being both the servants of the pro- 

Without the which I am not to be won ; 

You shall this twelve-month term from day to day 

Visit the speechless sick, and still converse 

With groaning wretches : and your task shall be, 

With all the fierce endeavour of your wit, 

To enforce the pained impotent to smile. 

Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of death I 
It cannot be, it is impossible : 
Mirth cannot move a soul in agony. 

Ros. Why, that's the m ay to choak a gibing spirit, 
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace, 
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools : 
" A jest's prosperity lies in the ear 
Of him that hears it ; never in the tongue 
Of bim that makes it." 



When Dr. Franklin attended the Privy Council, during 
the struggle between America and England, as the repre- 
sentative of the province of Massachusetts, Mr. Wedder- 
burn (afterwards Lord Loughborough) inveighed against 
him in the severest language. At the sallies of his wit, all 
the members of the council, the president himself (Lord 
Gowerj not excepted, frequently laughed outright. No 
person belonging to the council behaved with decent gravity 
except Lord North. Dr. Franklin told Mr. Lee, one of his 
counsel, after the business was concluded, that he was indif- 



FROM SIR THOMAS BROWN. 



337 



vidence of God. Art is the perfection of nature ; 
were the world now as it was the sixth day, there 
were yet a chaos. Nature hath made one world, 
and art another. In brief, ail things are artificial, 
for nature is the art of God.* 



ferent to Mr. Wedderburn's speech, but that he was indeed 
sincerely sorry to see the Lords of the council behave so in- 
decently. " They shewed," he added, " that the coarsest 
language can be grateful to the politest ear." 

In the very clothes which he wore before the Privy Council 
when he was insulted, he afterwards signed the treaties of 
commerce and alliance. 



* Perdita. For I have heard it said, 
There is an art, which in their piedness shares 
With great creating nature. 

Pcd. Say there be, 
Yet nature is made better by no mean, 
But nature makes that mean ; 
So. over that art, which you say adds to nature, 
Is an art that nature makes ; you see, sweet maid, 
We marry a gentle scyon to the wildest stock, 
And make conceive a bark of baser kind 
By bud of nobler race. This is an art 
Which does mend nature, change it rather ; but 
The art itself is nature. 

Winter's Tale, 

Natural History is subject to a threefold division. For 

z 



338 



SELECTIONS 



CHARITY. 

I hold not so narrow a conceit of this virtue, as 
to conceive that to give alms, is only to be charitable, 



nature is either free and displaying herself in her ordinary 
course, as in the heavens, living creatures, plants, and the 
universal furniture of the world : — or put out of her usual 
course, as in the monsters : — or she is compressed and fash- 
ioned, and as it were, new cast, as in artificial operations. An 
opinion hath, however, long time gone current, as if art were 
some different thing from nature, and artificial from natural. 
From this mistake, this inconvenience arises, that many 
writers of natural history think they have quit themselves suf- 
ficiently if they have compiled a history of creatures, or of 
plants, or of minerals ; the experiments of mechanical arts 
past over in silence. But there is yet a more subtle deceit 
which secretly steals into the minds of men ; namely, that 
art should be reputed a kind of additament only to nature, 
whose virtue is this, that it can indeed either perfect nature 
inchoate, or repair it when it is decayed, or set it at liberty 
from impediments ; but not quite alter, transmute, or shake 
it in the foundations : which erroneous conceit hath brought 
in a too hasty despair upon men's enterprises. But on the 
contrary, this certain truth should be thoroughly settled in 
the minds of men, that artificials differ not from natural in 
form and essence ; but in the efficient only ; for man hath no 
power over nature save only in her motion ; that is, to mingle 
or put together natural bodies, and to separate or put them 



FROM SIR THOMAS BROWN. 339 

or think a piece of liberality can comprehend the 
total of charity ; divinity hath wisely divided the 
act thereof into many branches, and hath taught 
us in this narrow way, many paths unto goodness ; 
as many ways as we may do good, so many ways 
we may be charitable ; there are infirmities not 
only of body, but of soul and fortunes, which do 
require the merciful hand of our abilities. I can- 
not contemn a man for ignorance, but behold 
him with as much pity as I do Lazarus. It is no 
greater charity to clothe his body, than apparel 
the nakedness of his soul. It is an honorable 
object to see the reasons of other men wear our 
liveries, and their borrowed understandings do 
homage to the bounty of ours ; it is the cheapest 
way of beneficence, and like the natural charity 
of the sun, illuminates another without obscuring 
itself. To be reserved and caitiff in this part of 
goodness, is the sordidest piece of covetousness, 
and more contemptible than the pecuniary ava- 
rice. To this (as calling myself a scholar) I am 



asunder ; wherefore where there is apposition and separation 
of bodies natural conjoining (as they term it) active with 
passive, man may do all things : this not done, he can do 
nothing. 

Bacon. 



340 



SELEC f IONS 



obliged by the duty of my condition, I make not 
therefore my head a grave, but a treasure of know- 
ledge; I intend no monopoly, but a community 
in learning ; I siudy not for my own sake only 
but for theirs that study not for themselves. 



RASH JUDGMENT. 
No man can justly censure or condemn another, 
because indeed no man truly knows another. 
This I perceive in myself, for I am in the dark 
to all the world, and my nearest friends behold 
me but in a cloud ; those that know me but su- 
perficially think less of me than I do of myself; 
those of my near acquaintance think more : God, 
who truly knows me, knows that I am nothing, for 
he only beholds me, and all the world, who looks 
not on us through a derived ray, or a trajection 
of a sensible species, but beholds the substance 
without the helps of accidents, and the forms of 
things, as we their operations. Further, no man 
can judge another, because no man knows him- 
self, for we censure others but as they disagree 
from that humour which we fancy laudible in our- 
selves, and commend others but for that where li 



• See ante 305, in Note. 



FROM SIR THOMAS BROWN. 



341 



they seem to quadrate and consent with us. So 
that in conclusion, all is but that we all condemn, 
self-love.* 

* See Ante 183, in note, where there is an extract from 
Wordsworth, upon " rash judgments and the sneers of 
selfish Men." 

What we oft do best, 
By sick interpreters, or weak ones, is 
Not ours, or not allowed : what worst, as oft 
Hitting a grosser quality, is cryed up 
For our best act. — Henry VIII, Act 1, Scene 4. 
See Barrow's Sermon against detraction; Sermon xix. 
See also his Sermon xx. against " Rash Judgment/' which he 
says is 

1. Impious. 

2. Unjust. 

3. Uncharitable. 

4. Foolish and Vain. 

5. Productive of Evil. 

An honest and charitable mind disposeth us, when we see 
any man endued with good qualities, and pursuing a tenor of 
good practice, to esteem such a person, to commend him, to 
interpret what he doth to the best, not to suspect any ill of 
him or to seek any exception against him ; it inclineth us, 
when we see any action materially good, to yield it simply 
due approbation and praise, without searching for or surmising 
any defect in the cause or principle whence it cometh, in the 
design or end to which it tendeth, in the way or manner 
of performing it. A good man would be sorry to have any 
good thing spoiled, as to find a crack in a fair building, a flaw 
in a fine jewel, a canker in a goodly flower, is grievous to any 



342 



SELECTIONS 



PRIDE. 

I thank God, amongst those millions of vices I 
do inherit and hold from Adam, I have escaped 



indifferent man : so would it be displeasing to him to observe 
defects in a worthy person, or commendable action. 

The sensorious humour, as it argueth ill nature to be pre- 
dominant (a vulturous nature which easily smelleth out, and 
hastily flieth toward, and greedily feedeth on carrion) so it 
signifieth bad conscience ! for he that knoweth evil of him- 
self is most prone to suspect, and most quick to pronounce ill 
concerning others, so it breedeth and fostereth such ill dispo- 
sitions: it debaucheth the minds of men, rendering them 
dim and doltish in apprehending their own faults, negligent 
and heedless in regard to their own hearts and ways, apt to 
please and comfort themselves in the evils, real or imaginary, 
of their neighbours ; which to do is a very barbarous and 
brutish practice. Barrow. 

A truly great man is considerate before he condemns and 
hesitates when compelled to censure. He knows that in all 
censure of others there is something of self-approbation. He 
knows that, exalted into the situation of a judge, it is difficult 
to walk humbly. He remembers that it is the nature of 
human weakness to inflate its trifling acts into matters of vast 
importance. " The school-boy who caught a tame rabbit, 
thought himself a mighty sportsman." He is also fearful 
that he may mislead others : that he may awaken intempe- 
rate zeal; that he may administer to envy and malice, 
and at last that a subject deeply considered, and by him cau- 



FROM SIR THOMAS BROWN. 



343 



one, and that a mortal enemy to charity, the first 
and father sin, not only of man, but of the devil, 
pride ; a vice whose name is comprehended in a 
monosyllable, but in its nature not circumscribed 
with a world ; I have escaped it in a condition 
that can hardly avoid it; those petty acquisitions 
and reputed perfections that advance and elevate 
the conceits of other men, add no feathers into 
mine: I have seen a grammarian tour and plume 
himself over a single line in Horace, and shew 
more pride in the construction of one ode, than 
the author in the composure of the whole book. 
For my own part, besides the jargon and patois 
of several provinces, I understand no less than six 
languages : yet I protest I have no higher conceit 
of myself, than had our fathers before the con- 
fusion of Babel, when there was but one language 
in the world, and none to boast himself either 
linguist or critic. I have not only seen several 
countries, beheld the nature of their climes, the 



tiously stated, may prove a step for restless vanity which 
would lift itself into notice, or a text for the cant which con- 
founds goodness with the talk of goodness. A, M. 

Does not the tendency to Rash Judgment, which would 
crucify merit, really originate in the respect for merit, from 
the pain attendant upon the consciousness of being excelled ? 



344 



SELECTIONS 



chorography of their provinces ; topography of 
their cities, but understood their several laws, 
customs and policies ; yet cannot ali this per- 
suade the'dulness of my spirit unto such an opi- 
nion of myself, as I behold in nimbler and con- 
ceited heads, that never looked a degree beyond 
their nests. I know the names, and somewhat 
more, of all the constellations in my horizon ; yet 
I have seen a prating mariner that could only 
name the pointers and the North star, out-talk 
me, and conceit himself a whole sphere above me. 
I know most of the plants of my country, and of 
those about me ; yet methinks I do not know so 
many as when I did but know a hundred, and 
had scarcely ever simpled further than Cheap- 
side ; for indeed heads of capacity, and such as 
are not full with a handful, or easy measure of 
knowledge, think they know nothing, till they 
know all; which being impossible, they fall upon 
the opinion of Socrates, and only know they know 
not anything.* 



* SOLILOQUIES OF THE OLD PHILOSOPHER AND THE YOUXG LADY. 

"Alas!" exclaimed a silver-headed sage, " how narrow 
is the utmost extent of human knowledge ! how circumscribed 
the sphere of intellectual exertion ! I have spent my life in 
acquiring knowledge, but how little do I know ! The farther 



FROM SIR THOMAS BROWN. 



345 



THE INVISIBLE WORLD. 
Now there is another part of charity, which is 
the basis and pillar of this, and that is the love 

I attempt to penetrate the secrets of nature, the more I am 
bewildered and benighted. Beyond a certain limit all is 
but confusion or conjecture : so that the advantage of the 
learned over the ignorant consists greatly in having ascer- 
tained how little is to be known. 

"It is true that I can measure the sun, and compute the 
distances of the planets ; I can calculate their periodical 
movements ; and even ascertain the laws by which they 
perform their sublime revolutions : but with regard to their 
construction, to the beings which inhabit them, of their con- 
dition and circumstances, whether natural or moral, what 
do I know more than the clown ? 

" Delighting to examine the economy of nature in our 
own world, I have analized the elements ; and have given 
names to their component parts. And yet, should I not be 
as much at a loss to explain the burning of fire, or to 
account for the liquid quality of water, as the vulgar who 
use and enjoy them without thought or examination ? 

<s I remark that all bodies, unsupported, fall to the ground • 
and I am taught to account for this by the law of gravita- 
tion. But what have I gained here more than a term ? 
Does it convey to my mind any idea of the nature of that 
mysterious and invisible chain, which draws all things to a 
common centre ? I observed the effect, I give a name to the 
cause, but can I explain or comprehend it ? 

" Pursuing the tract of the naturalist, I have learned to 



346 



SELECTIONS 



of God, for whom we love our neighbour ; for this 
I think charity, to love God for himself, and our 

distinguish the animal, vegetable, and mineral kingdoms ; 
and to divide these into their distinct tribes and families : — 
but can I tell, after all this toil, whence a single blade of 
grass derives its vitality 1 — Could the most minute researches 
enable me to discover the exquisite pencil that paints and 
fringes the flower of the field ? — have I ever detected the 
secret that gives their brilliant dye to the ruby and the 
emerald, or the art that enamels the delicate shell 1 

" I observe the sagacity of animals ; I call it instinct, and 
speculate upon its various degrees of approximation to the 
reason of man. But, after all, I know as little of the cogi- 
tations of the brute as he does of mine. When I see a flight 
of birds overhead, performing their evolutions, or steering 
their course to some distant settlement, their signals and 
cries are as unintelligible to me as are the learned lan- 
guages to the unlettered mechanic ; I understand a3 little 
of their policy and laws as they do of Blackstone's Com- 
mentaries. 

" But leaving the material creation, my thoughts have 
often ascended to loftier subjects, and indulged in meta- 
physical speculation. And here, while I easily perceive 
in myself the two distinct qualities of matter and mind, I 
am baffled in every attempt to comprehend their mutual de- 
pendence and mysterious connection. When my hand 
moves in obedience to my will, have I the most distant con- 
ception of the manner in which ihe volition is either com- 
municated or understood ? Thus in the exercise of one of 
the most simple and ordinary actions, I am perplexed and 
confounded, if I attempt to account for it. 



FROM SIR THOMAS BROWN. 347 

neighbour for God. All that is truly amiable is 
God, or as it were a divided piece of him, that 

" Again how many years of my life were devoted to the 
acquisition of those languages, by the means of which I 
might explore the records of remote ages, and become fami- 
liar with the learning and literature of other times ! and 
what have I gathered from these but the mortifying fact, 
that man has ever been struggling with his own impotence, 
and vainly endeavouring to overleap the bounds which limit 
his anxious inquiries? 

"Alas! then, what have I gained by my laborious re- 
searches but an humiliating conviction of my weakness and 
ignorance? of how little has man, at his best estate, to 
boast ? what folly in him to glory in his contracted powers, 
or to value himself upon his imperfect acquisitions V 



" Well !" exclaimed a young lady, just returned from 
school, " my education is at last finished : indeed it would be 
strange, if, after five years' hard application, any thing were 
left incomplete. Happily that is all over now ; and I have 
nothing to do, but to exercise my various accomplishments. 

"Let me see ! — as to French, I am mistress of that, and speak 
it, if possible with more fluency than English. Italian I can 
read with ease, and pronounce very well : as well at least, and 
better, than any of my friends ; and that is all one need wish 
for in Italian. Music I have learned till I am perfectly sick 
of it. But, now that we have a grand piano, it will be de- 
lightful to play when we have company. I must still continue 



348 



SELECTIONS 



retains a reflex or shadow of himself. Nor is it 
strange that we should place affection on that 
which is invisible; all that we truly love is thus ; 
what we adore under affection of our senses de- 
serves not the honour of so pure a title. Thus 
we adore virtue, though to the eyes of sense she 
be invisible. Thus that part of our noble friends 
that we love, is not that part that we embrace, 
but that insensible part that our arms cannot 
embrace. God being all goodness, can love 
nothing but himself ; he loves us but for that 



to practice a little ; — the only thing, I think, that I need now 
to improve myself in. And then there are my Italian songs ! 
which every tody allows I sing with taste, and as it is what so 
few people can pretend to, I am particularly glad that I can. 

"My drawings are universally admired; especially the 
shells and flowers ; which are beautiful, certainly ; besides 
this, I have a decided taste in all kinds of fancy ornaments. 

" And then my dancing and waltzing ! in which our 
master himself owned that he could take me no further ; — 
just the figure for it certainly ; it would be unpardonable if I 
did not excel. 

" As to common things, geographj", and history, and poetry, 
and philosophy, thank my stars, I have got through them all ! 
so that I may consider myself not only perfectly accomplished 
but also thoroughly well informed. 

" Well, to be sure, how much have I fagged through ; the 
only wonder is that one head can contain it all!" J. T. 



FROM SIR THOMAS BROWN. 



349 



part, which is as it were himself, and the traduc- 
tion of his Holy Spirit. Let us call to assize the 
loves of our parents, the affection of our wives and 
children, and they are all dumb shows and 
dreams without reality, truth, or constancy. 

immortality- 
Man is a noble animal, splendid in ashes, 

pompous in the grave. 

It is the heaviest stone that melancholy can 

throw at a man to tell him that he is at the end of 

his being. 

Were the happiness of the next world as closely 
apprehended as the felicities of this, it were a 
martyrdom to live ; and unto such as consider 
none hereafter, it must be more than death to die, 
which makes us amazed at their audacities that 
durst be nothing, and return to their chaos 
again. 

To subsist in lasting monuments, to live in their 
production, to exist in their names and predicament 
of chimeras, was large satisfaction unto old expec- 
tations, and made one part of their Elysiums. 
But all this is nothing in the metaphysics of true 
belief, To live indeed is to be again ourselves, 
which being not only a hope but an evidence in 



350 



SELECTIONS, &e. 



noble believers, 'tis all one to lie in St. Innocent's 
church-yard, as in the sands of Egypt ; ready to 
be anything, in the ecstasy of being ever, and as 
content with six feet as the moles of Adrianus.* 



HAPPINESS. 

That wherein God himself is happy, the holy 
angels are happy, in whose defect the devils are 
unhappy: that dare I call happiness : whatsoever 
conduceth unto this, may with an easy metaphor 
deserve that name; whatsoever else the world 
terms happiness, is to me a story out of Pliny ; an 
apparition or neat delusion, wherein there is no 
more of happiness than the name. Bless me in 
this life with but peace of my conscience, com- 
mand of my affections, the love of thyself and my 
dearest friends : and I shall be happy enough to 
pity Csesar. These are O Lord the humble desires 
of my most reasonable ambition, and all I dare 
call happiness on earth ; wherein I set no rule or 
limit to thy hand or providence, dispose of me ac- 
cording to the wisdom of thy pleasure. Thy will 
be done though in my own undoing. 



* Urn-Burial. 



MILTON. 

Wherever I find a man despising the false estimates of the 
vulgar, and daring to aspire, in sentiment, in language, and 
in conduct, to what the highest wisdom through all ages has 
sanctioned as most excellent, to him I unite myself by a sort 
of necessary attachment: and, if I am so formed by na- 
ture or destiny, that, by no exertion or labour of my own, I 
can attain this summit of worth and honour, yet no power 
of heaven or earth shall hinder me from looking with affection 
and reverence upon those who have thoroughly attained this 
glory, or appear engaged in the successful pursuit of it. 

Letter to Deodati. 



SELECTIONS. 



OF EDUCATION. 
And seeing every nation affords not experience 
and tradition enough for all kind of learning, 
therefore we are chiefly taught the languages of 
those people who have at any time been most 
industrious after wisdom ; so that language is but 
the instrument conveying to us things useful to 
be known. And though a linguist should pride 
himself to have all the tongues that Babel cleft 
the world into, yet, if he have not studied the 
solid things in them as well as the words and lexi- 
cons, he were nothing so much to be esteemed 
a learned man, as any yeoman or tradesman com- 
petently wise in his mother dialect only. Hence 
appear the many mistakes which have made 
learning generally so unpleasing and so unsuc- 
cessful ; first, we do amiss to spend seven or eight 
years merely in scraping together so much mise- 
rable Latin and Greek, as might be learned 
otherwise easily and delightfully in one year.* 



* Is it not better to have ten ideas in one language, than 
one idea in ten ? 



354 



SELECTIONS 



And that which casts our proficiency therein so 
much behind, is our time lost partly in too oft 
idle vacancies given both to schools and univer- 
sities ; partly in a preposterous exaction, forcing 
the empty wits of children to compose themes, 
verses, and orations, which are the acts of ripest 
judgment,* and the final work of a head filled by 
long reading and observing, with elegant maxims 
and copious invention. These are not matters to 
be wrung from poor striplings, like blood out of 
the nose, or the plucking of untimely fruit ; 
besides the ill habit which they get of wretched 
barbarising against the Latin and Greek idiom, 
with their untutored Anglicisms, odious to be read 
yet not to be avoided without a well continued 
and judicious conversing among pure authors 
digested, which they scarce taste; whereas, if 
after some preparatory grounds of speech by their 
certain forms got into memory, they were led to the 



* It is an usual practice (but in my opinion somewhat 
preposterous) that scholars in the universities are too early 
entered in logic and rhetoric ; arts indeed fitter for graduates 
than children and novices, — the untimely and unripe acces- 
sion to these arts, hath drawn on, by necessary consequence, 
a watery and superficiary delivery and handling thereof, as is 
fitted indeed to the capacities of children. 

Bacotis Advancement of Learning. 



FROM MILTON. 



355 



praxis thereof in some chosen short book lessoned 
thoroughly to them, they might then forthwith 
proceed to learn the substance of good things, 
and arts in due order, which would bring the 
whole language quickly into their power. This 
I take to be the most rational and most pro- 
fitable way of learning languages, and whereby 
we may best hope to give account to God of 
our youth spent herein. 

And for the usual method of teaching arts, I deem 
it to be an old error of universities, not yet well re- 
covered from the scholastic grossness of barbarous 
ages, that instead of beginning with arts most easy, 
(and those be such as are most obvious to the 
sense), they present their young unmatriculated no- 
vices at first coming with the most intellective 
abstractions of logic and metaphysics, so that they 
having but newly left those grammatic flats and 
shallows where they stuck unreasonably to learn 
a few words with lamentable construction, and 
now on the sudden transported under another 
climate to be tossed and turmoiled w T ith their un- 
ballasted wits in fathomless and unquiet deeps of 
controversy, do for the most part grow into hatred 
and contempt of learning, mocked and deluded 
all this while with ragged notions and babblements, 
while they expected worthy and delightful know- 



356 



SELECTIONS 



ledge ; till poverty or youthful years call them 
importunately their several ways, and hasten them 
with the sway of friends, either to an ambitious 
and mercenary, or ignorantly zealous divinity ; 
some allured to the trade of law, grounding their 
purposes not on the prudent and heavenly con- 
templation of justice and equity, which was 
never taught them; but on the promising and 
pleasing thoughts of litigious terms, fat conten- 
tions, and flowing fees; others betake them to 
state affairs, with souls so unprincipled in virtue 
and true generous breeding, that flattery and 
courtshifts, and tyrannous aphorisms appear to 
them the highest points of wisdom ; instilling their 
barren hearts with a conscientious slavery ; if, as 
I rather think, it be not feigned. Others, lastly, 
of a more delicious and airy spirit, retire them- 
selves (knowing no better) to the enjoyments of 
ease and luxury, living out their days in feasts 
and jollity ; which indeed is the wisest and the 
safest course of ail these, unless they were with 
more integrity undertaken. And these are the 
errors, and these are the fruits of mispending our 
prime youth at schools and universities as we do, 
either in learning mere words, or such things 
chiefly as were better unlearned, 

I shall detain you now no longer in the de- 



FROM MILTOK. 



357 



monstration of what we should not do, but 
straight conduct you to a hill side, where I will 
point you out the right path of a virtuous and 
noble education ; laborious indeed at the first 
ascent, but else so smooth, so green, so full of 
goodly prospect and melodious sounds on every 
side, that the harp of Orpheus was not more 
charming. I doubt not but ye shall have more 
ado to drive our dullest and laziest youth, our 
stocks and stubs, from the infinite desire of such 
a happy nurture, than we have now to hale and 
drag our choicest and hopefullest wits to that 
asinine feast of sowthistles and brambles, which is 
commonly set before them as all the food and en- 
tertainment of their tenderest and most docibie 
age. 

I call therefore a complete and generous edu- 
cation, that which fits a man to perform justly, 
skilfully and magnanimously all the offices, both 
private and public, of peace and war. And how 
all this may be done between twelve and one and 
twenty, less time than is now bestowed in pure 
trifling at grammar and sophistry, is to be thus 
ordered, &c. &c* 



* From Milton's Letter to Master Hartlib. 



358 



SELECTIONS 



THE CONNECTION BETWEEN ERROR AND 
TRUTH. 

Good and evil we know in the field of this 
world grow up together almost inseparably : and 
the knowledge of good is so involved and inter- 
woven with the knowledge of evil, and in so 
many cunning resemblances hardly to be dis- 
cerned, that those confused seeds which were 
imposed upon Psyche as an incessant labour to 
cull cut and sort asunder, were not more inter- 
mixed.* 



* We are much beholden to Machiavel and others, who 
•write what men do, and not what they ought to do ; for it is 
not possible to join serpentine wisdom with columbine in- 
nocency, except men knew exactly all the conditions of the 
serpent ; his baseness and going upon his belly: his volu- 
bility, and lubricity ; his envy and sting. 

The connection between truth and error, or rather how 
error leads to truth, may be seen in tracing the progress of 
any invention, as the steam engine ; or of any science, of 
astronomy for instance, of which there is to any person desi- 
rous to see how light arises out of darkness, a very interest- 
ing delineation in the posthumous works of Adam Smith. 

Yet surely to alchemy this right is due, that it may be 
compared to the husbandman, whereof i£sop makes the fable ; 
that, when he died, told his sons, that he had left unto them 



FROM MILTON. 



359 



ACTIVE VIRTUE. 
I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue 
unexercised and unbreathed, that never sallies 

gold buried under ground in his vineyard: and they digged 
over all the ground, and gold they found none : hut by reason 
of their stirring and digging the mould about the roots of the 
vines, they had a great vintage the year following ; so assu- 
redly the search and stir to make gold hath brought to light 
a great number of good and fruitful inventions and experi- 
ments, as well for the disclosing of nature, as for the use of 
man's life. Bacon. 

Good and ill are universally intermingled and confounded ; 
— happiness and misery, wisdom and folly, virtue and vice. 
Nothing is pure and entirely of a piece. All advantages are 
attended with disadvantages. An universal compensation pre- 
vails in all conditions of being and existence. And it is scarce 
possible for us by our most chimerical wishes, to form the 
idea of a station or situation altogether desirable. The 
draughts of life, according to the poet's fiction, are always 
mixed from vessels on each hand of Jupiter : or if any 
cup be presented altogether pure, it is drawn only, as the 
same poet tells us, from the left-handed vessel. Hume. 

Truth is often covered with heaps of idle and unprofitable 
traditions : yet may it be worth our while to seek for a few 
truths under a whole heap of rubbish. Bishop Taylor. 

Nothing tends so much to the corruption of science as to 
suffer it to stagnate ; these waters must be troubled before they 
can exert their virtues. Burke. 

There are errors which no wise man will treat with rude- 



360 



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out and sees her adversary, but slinks out of 
the race, where that immortal garland is to be 
run for, not without dust and heat. This was the 
reason why our sage and serious poet, Spenser, 
describing true temperance under the person of 
Guion, brings him in with his palmer through the 
cave of Mammon and the bower of earthly bliss, 
that he might see and know and yet abstain.* 



ness while there is a probability that they may be the refrac- 
tion of some great truth as yet below the horizon. 

Coleridge. 

* Pythagoras, being asked by Hiero what he was, an- 
swered: If Hiero were ever at the Olympian games, he knew 
the manner, that some came to try their fortunes for the prizes »' 
some as merchants to utter their commodities ; some to make 
good cheer and be merry, and to meet their friends : and some 
came to look on ; and that he was one of them that came to 
look on : but men should know that, in this theatre of man's 
life, it is reserved only for God and angels to be lookers on. 

Lord Bacon. 

But, according to Swift, even angels are not to be passive : 
the royal arms of Lilliput, are, he says, " An angel lifting a 
lame beggar from the earth. 5 ' 

Lord Bacon abounds with observations to the same effect : 
he says, — " A contemplative life, which does not cast any 
beam of heat or light upon human society, is not known to 
divinity : and the necessity of advancing the public good, 
censures that philosophy which flies perturbations. Philoso- 



FROM MILTON. 



36L 



LIBERTY. 

This is not the liberty which we can hope, 
that no grievance ever should arise in the common- 



phy which introduces such a health of mind, as was that of 
Herodicus in body, who did nothing all his life, but intend 
his health. ' Sustine,' and not e Abstine,' was the com- 
mendation of Diogenes." 

Philosophy censures the tenderness of some men, who retire 
too easily from public life, to avoid indignity ; but their solu- 
tion ought not to be so fine, that every thing may catch in it 
and tear it. Lord Bacon. 

Are we not all passively kind, that is, do we not all, in a 
greater or less degree, enjoy the pleasures of kindness ; and 
does not the chief difference consist in active and passive 
kindness. " The cause which I knew not, I searched out," are 
the words of Job : — " I was an hungred and ye gave me 
meat ; I was thirsty and ye gave me drink ; I was a stranger 
and ye took me in ; naked and ye clothed me ; I was sick 
and ye visited me ; I was in prison and ye came unto me," 
is the language of Christianity. 

Yet even this, this cold beneficence 

Seizes my praise, when I reflect on those, 

The sluggard pity's vision- weaving tribe 

"Who sigh for wretchedness, yet shun the wretched, 

Nursing in some delicious solitude, 

Their slothful loves and dainty sympathies. 

Coleridge. 



362 



SELECTIONS 



wealth, that let no man in this world expect ; but 
when complaints are freely heard, deeply consi- 
dered, and speedily reformed, then is the utmost 

Of the duty of activity Milton and Bacon are illustrious 
examples, Milton says, " When that task of answering the 
king's defence was eujoyned me by public authority, being both 
in an ill state of health, and the sight of one eye almost gone 
already, the physicians openly predicting the loss of both, 
if I undertook this labour ; yet nothing terrified by their 
premonition, I did not long balance whether my duty should 
be preferred to my eyes. 

We all remember his noble sonnet descriptive of this 
blindness :— 

Cyriac, this three years day, these eyes, tho' clear 

To outward view of blemish or of spot, 

Bereft of sight, their seeing have forgot. 

Nor to their idle orbs does day appear, 

Or sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, 

Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not 

Against heaven's hand, or will, nor bate one jot 

Of heart or hope ; but still bear up, and steer 

Right onward- What supports me dost thou ask ? 

The conscience, friend, to have lost them over-ply'd 

In liberty's defence, my noble task, 

Whereof all Europe rings from side to side. 

This thought might lead me thro* this world's vain mask, 

Content, tho' blind, had I no other guide. 

How deeply Milton felt the sacrifice which he made, may 
be collected from the following effusion : — 

With small willingness I endure to interrupt the pursuit of 



FROM MILTON. 



263 



bound of civil liberty attained that wise men look 
for.* 



no less hopes tban those, and leave a calm and pleasing 
solitariness, fed with cheerful and confident thoughts, to 
embark in a troubled sea of noises and hoarse disputes, 
put from beholding the bright countenance of truth, in 
the quiet and still air of delightful studies, to come into 
the dim reflection of hollow antiquities sold by the seem- 
ing bulk, and there be fain to club quotations with men 
whose learning and belief lies in marginal stuffings. 

So, too, Lord Bacon says, u We judge also that mankind 
may conceive some hopes from our example, which we offer, 
not by way of ostentation, but because it may be useful. If 
any one therefore should despair, let him consider a man as 
much employed in civil affairs as any other of his age, a man 
of no great share of health, who must therefore have lost much 
time, and yet, in this undertaking, he is the first that leads 
the way, unassisted by any mortal, and stedfastly entering 
the true path, that was absolutely untrod before, and sub- 
mitting his mind to things, may somewhat have advanced 
the design." 

How beautifully does Lord Bacon warn us that we ought 
not too soon to encounter the world. " As the fable goes of 
the basilisk, that if he see a man first the man dies ; but if a 
man see him first the basilisk dies ; so it is with frauds, im- 
postures and evil arts, — if a man discover them first, they 
lose their power of doing hurt ; but if they are not seen, they 
are dangerous." 

* This is true liberty, when free-born men, 
Having to advise the public, may speak free. 



364 



SELECTIONS 



LIBELS. 

I deny not, but that it is of the greatest con- 
cernment in the church and commonwealth, to 
have a vigilant eye how books demean themselves 
as well as men ; and thereafter to confine, im- 
prison, and do sharpest justice on them as male- 
factors ; for books are not absolutely dead things, 
but do contain a progeny of life in them to be as 
active as that soul was whose progeny they are ; 
nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest effi- 
cacy aud extraction of that living intellect that 
bred them. I know they are as lively, and as vi- 
gorously productive, as those fabulous dragons 
teeth ; and being sown up and down, may chance 
to spring up armed men. 



LICENSERS OF THE PRESS. 

Lest some should persuade ye, lords and com- 
mons, that these arguments of learned men's dis- 
couragement at this your order are mere flourishes 
and not real, I could recount what I have seen 
and heard in other countries, where this kind of 
inquisition tyrannizes ; when I have sat among 
their learned men, (for that honour I had), and 
been counted happy to be born in such a place of 



FROM MILTON. 



365 



philosophic freedom, as they supposed England 
was, while themselves did nothing but bemoan 
the servile condition into which learning amongst 
them was brought; that this was it which had 
damped the glory of Italian wits ; that nothing 
had been there written now these many years but 
flattery and fustian. There it was that I found 
and visited the famous Galileo grown old, a pri- 
soner to the inquisition, for thinking in astronomy 
otherwise than the franciscan and dominican li- 
censers thought.* 



ENGLAND AND LONDON. 
Lords and commons of England ! consider 
what nation it is whereof ye are, and whereof ye 
are the governors : a nation not slow and 
dull, but of a quick, ingenious and piercing 
spirit ; acute to invent, subtle and sinewy to 
discourse, not beneath the reach of any point 
the highest that human capacity can soar to. 
Therefore the studies of learning in her deepest 
sciences have been so ancient and so eminent 
among us, that writers of good antiquity and able 
judgment have been persuaded, that even the 
school of Pythagoras and the Persian wisdom, 



* Would not this be a fine subject for an artist ? 



366 



SELECTIONS 



took beginning from the old philosophy of this 
island. And that wise and civil Roman, Julius 
Agricola, who governed once here for Csesar, pre- 
ferred the natural wits of Britain, before the 
laboured studies of the French. Behold now this 
vast city ; a city of refuge, the mansion-house 
of liberty, encompassed and surrounded with his 
protection ; the shop of war hath not there more 
anvils and hammers waking, to fashion out the 
plates and instruments of armed justice in defence 
of beleagured truth, than there be pens and heads 
there, sitting by their studious lamps, musing, 
searching, revolving new notions and ideas, where- 
with to present, as with their homage and their 
fealty, the approaching reformation ; others as fast 
reading, trying all things, assenting to the force of 
reason and convincement. What could a man re- 
quire more from a nation so pliant and so prone to 
seek after knowledge ? What wants there to such 
a towardly and pregnant soil, but wise and faithful 
labourers, to make a knowing people, a nation 
of prophets, of sages and of worthies ? we reckon 
more than five months yet to harvest; there need 
not be five weeks had we but eyes to lift up, the 
fields are white already. 



REFORM. 

Methinks I see in my mind a noble and puis- 



FROM MILTON. 



367 



sant nation rousing herself like a strong man after 
sleep, and shaking her invincible locks; me- 
thinks I see her as an eagle muing her mighty 
youth, and kindling her dazzled eyes at the full 
mid-day beam : purging and unsealing her long 
abused sight at the fountain itself of heavenly 
radiance ; while the whole noise of timorous and 
flocking birds, with those also that love the twi- 
light, flutter about, amazed at what she means, 
and in their envious gabble would prognosticate a 
year of sects and seisms. 

Error supports custom, custom countenances 
error : and these two between them would perse- 
cute and chase away all truth and solid wisdom 
out of human life ; were it not that God, rather 
than man, once in many ages calls together the 
prudent and religious counsels of men, deputed to 
repress the encroachments, and to work off the 
inveterate blots and obscurities wrought upon our 
minds by the subtle insinuating of error and cus- 
tom; who, with the numerous and vulgar train 
of their followers, make it their chief design to 
envy and cry down the industry of free reasoning 
under the terms of humour and innovation ; as if 
the womb of teeming: Truth were to be closed 
up, if she presume to bring forth aught that 



368 



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sorts not with their unchewed notions and sup- 
positions.* 

MARRIAGE. 

Marriage is a covenant, the very being whereof 
consists not in a forced cohabitation, and counter- 
feit performance of duties, but in unfeigned love 
and peace ; and of matrimonial love, no doubt but 



* Of prejudice it has been truly said, that it has the sin- 
gular ability of accommodating itself to all the possible 
varieties of the human mind. Some passions and vices are 
but thinly scattered among mankind, and find only here and 
there a fitness of reception. But prejudice, like the spider, 
makes every where its home. It has neither taste nor 
choice of place, and all that it requires is room. There is 
scarcely a situation, except fire and water, in which a spider 
will not live. So let the mind be as naked as the walls of 
an empty and forsaken tenement, gloomy as a dungeon, or 
ornamented with the richest abilities cf thinking ; let it be 
hot, cold, dark or light, lonely or inhabited, still prejudice; 
if undisturbed, will fill it with cobwebs, and live like the 
spider, where there seems nothing to live on. If the one 
prepares her food by poisoning it to her palate and her use, 
the other does the same ; and as several of our passions are 
strongly characterised by the animal world, prejudice may be 
denominated the spider of the mind. 



FROM MILTON. 



369 



that was chiefly meant, which by the ancient 
sages was thus parabled : that Love, if he be not 
twin born, yet hath a brother wondrous like him, 
called Anteros ; whom while he seeks all about, 
his chance is to meet with many false and feigning 
desires, that wander singly up and down in his 
likeness; by them in their borrowed garb, Love, 
though not wholly blind, as poets wrong him, yet 
having but one eye, as being born an archer 
aiming, and that eye not the quickest in this dark 
region here below, which is not Love's proper 
sphere, partly out of the simplicity and credulity 
which is native to him, often deceived, embraces 
and consorts him with these obvious and suborned 
striplings, as if they were his mother's own sons ; 
for so he thinks them, while they subtilly keep 
themselves most on his blind side. But after a 
while, as his manner is, when soaring up into the 
high tower of his apogseum, above the shadow of 
the earth, he darts out the direct rays of his then 
most piercing eyesight upon the impostures, and 
trim disguises, that were used with him, and dis- 
cerns that this is not his genuine brother as he 
imagined : he has no longer the power to hold 
fellowship with such a personated mate; for 
straight his arrows lose their golden heads, and 
shed their purple feathers, his silken braids un- 

B B 



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SELECTIONS 



twine, and slip their knots, and that original and 
riery virtue given him by fate, all on a sudden 
goes out, and leaves him undeified and despoiled 
of all his force; till finding Anteros at last, he 
kindles and repair? the almost faded ammunition 
of his deity by the reflection of a coequal and 
homogeneal fire. This is a deep and serious ve- 
rity, shewing us that love in marriage cannot live 
nor subsist unless it be mutual ; and where love 
cannot be, there can be left of wedlock nothing 
but the empty husk of an outside matrimony, as 
undelightful and unpleasing to God as any other 
kind of hypocrisy. 



GOVERNMENT. 
I cannot better liken the state and person of a 
king than to that mighty Nazarite Sampson ; 
who being disciplined from his birth in the pre- 
cepts and practice of temperance and sobriety, 
without the strong drink of injurious and exces- 
sive desires, grows up to a noble strength and 
perfection with those his illustrious and sunny 
locks and laws, waving and curling about his 
godlike shoulders. And while he keeps them 
about him undeminished and unshorn, he may 
with the jaw bone of an ass, that is, with the 
word of his meanest officer, suppress and put to 



FROM MILTON. 



371 



confusion thousands of those that rise against 
his just power.* 

THE POET'S MORNING. 
My morning haunts are, where they should be, 
at home ; not sleeping, or concocting the surfeits 
of an irregular feast, but up and stirring; in 



* Dr. Symmons, in his Life of Milton, says, — Abstinence 
in diet was one of Milton's favorite virtues ; which he prac- 
tised invariably through life, and availed himself of every 
opportunity to recommend in his writings. 

O madness ! to think use of strongest wines 
And strongest drinks our chief support of health, 
When God, with these forbidden, made choice to rear 
His mighty champion, strong above compare, 
Whose drink was only from the liquid brook. 

Samson Agonistes. 
When the Angel of the Lord appeared unto the wife of 
Manoah, and promised that she who was now childless, 
should bear a son, he gave to her this strong injunction, 
" Now therefore beware, I pray thee, drink not wine, nor 
strong drink," And when Manoah besought the heavenly- 
messenger that he would vouchsafe to shew him " how to 
order the child," the angel of the Lord answered, " of all 
that I have said to the woman let her beware." 

" She may not eat of any thing that cometh of the vine, 
nor drink wine, nor strong drink." 

And the woman bare a son, and called his name Samson, 
and the child grew and the Lord blessed him.— Judges, 13. 



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winter, often ere the sound of any bell awake 
men to labour or to devotion ; in summer, as oft 
with the bird that first rises, or not much tardier, 
to read good authors, or cause them to be read 
till the attention be weary, or memory have its 
full freight. 

PARADISE LOST. 
A work not to be raised from the heat of 
youth or the vapors of wine, like that which flows 
from the pen of some vulgar amorist, nor to be 
obtained by the invocation of Dame Memory and 
her Syren daughters, but by devout prayer to that 
eternal spirit, who can enrich with all utterance 
and knowledge, and sends out his seraphim, with 
the hallowed fire of his altar to touch and purify 
the lips of whom he pleases.* 

* And chiefly thou O spirit that dost prefer 
Before all temples, the upright heart and pure, 
Instruct me — what in me is dark 
Illumine, what low, raise and support. — Milton. 

Father of light and life ! thou good supreme, 
O teach me what is good! teach me thyself; 
Save me from folly, vanity, and vice, 
From every low pursuit ! and feed my soul, 
With knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue pure, 
Sacred, substantial, never fading bliss.— Thomson. 



LORD BACON. 

Men have entered into a desire of learning and knowledge 
sometimes upon a natural curiosity and inquisitive appetite ; 
sometimes to entertain their minds with variety and delight ; 
sometimes for ornament and reputation; and sometimes to 
enable them to victory of wit and contradiction; and most 
times for lucre and profession ; and seldom sincerely to give 
a true account of their gift of reason to the benefit and use of 
man. As if there were sought in knowledge a couch where- 
upon to rest a searching and restless spirit ; or a terrace for a 
wandering and variable mind to walk up and down with a 
fair prospect ; or a tower of state for a proud mind to raise 
itself upon ; or a fort or commanding ground tor strife and 
contention : or a shop for profit or sale ; and not a rich store- 
house for the glory of the Creator, and the relief of man's 
estate. 

Advancement of Learning. 



SELECTIONS. 



UNIVERSITIES. 
As water, whether it be the dew of heaven or 
the springs of the earth, doth scatter and lose 
itself in the ground, except it be collected into 
some receptacle, where it may by union comfort 
and sustain itself; and, for that cause, the in- 
dustry of man hath framed and made spring-heads, 
conduits, cisterns and pools; which men have 
accustomed likewise to beautify and adorn with 
accomplishments of magnificence and state, as 
well as of use and necessity. So knowledge, 
whether it descend from divine inspiration or 
spring from human sense, would soon perish and 
vanish to oblivion, if it were not preserved in 
books, traditions, conferences and places ap- 
pointed, as universities, colleges, and schools for 
the receipt and comforting the same. 

LIBRARIES.* 
Libraries are as the shrines where all the 

* Heinsius, the keeper of the library at Leyden, after 



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SELECTIONS 



relics of the ancient saints, full of true virtue, and 
that without delusion or imposture, are preserved 
and reposed. 

PATENT AND LATENT VICE. 
In the law of the leprosy it is said, u If the 
whiteness overspread the flesh, the patient may 
pass abroad for clean : but if there be any whole 
flesh remaining', he is to be shut up for unclean. " 
One of the rabbins noteth a principle of moral phi- 
losophy, that men abandoned to vice do not so 
much corrupt manners as those that are half good 
and half evil.* 



being mewed up in it the whole of one year, said, " I no 
sooner come into the library but I bolt the door after me, 
excluding lust, ambition, avarice, and all such vices, whose 
nurse is idleness, the mother of ignorance and melancholy 
herself; and in the very lap of eternity, amidst so many 
divine souls, I take my seat with so lofty a spirit and such 
sweet content, that I pity all the great and rich who know 
not this happiness." 

* Coleridge in his Aids to Reflection, says, " Where virtue 
is, sensibility is the ornament and becoming attire of virtue. 
On certain occasions it may almost be said to become virtue. 
But sensibility and all the amiable qualities may likewise 
become, and too often have become, the panders of vice and 
the instruments of seduction. 



FROM BACON* 



377 



PHILOSOPHISING AND THEORISING. 
The wit and mind of man, if it work upon 
matter which is the contemplation of the crea- 



So must it needs be with all qualities that have their rise 
only in parts and fragments of our nature. A man of warm 
passions may sacrifice half his estate to rescue a friend 
from prison; for he is naturally sympathetic, and the more 
social part of his nature happened to be uppermost. The 
same man shall afterwards exhibit the same disregard of 
money in an attempt to seduce that friend's wife or daughter. 

All the evil achieved by Hobbs and the whole school of 
materialists will appear inconsiderable if it be compared 
with the mischief effected and occasioned by the senti- 
mental philosophy of Sterne and his numerous imitators. 
The vilest appetites and the most remorseless inconstancy 
towards their object, acquired the titles of the heart, the 
irresistible feelings, the too tender sensibility ; and if the 
frosts of prudence, the icy chains of human law, thawed and 
vanished at the genial warmth of human nature, who 
could help it ? It was an amiable weakness ! 

About this time too the profanation of the word love rose 
to its height. The French naturalists, Buffon and others , 
borrowed it from the sentimental novellists : the Swedish 
and English philosophers took the contagion : and the Muse 
of science condescended to seek admission into the saloons 
of fashion and frivolity, rouged like an harlot, and with 
the harlot's wanton leer. I know not how the annals of 

2 



378 



SELECTIONS 



tures of God, worketh according to the stuff, and 
is limited thereby ; but if it work upon itself, as 
the spider worketh his web, then it is endless 



guilt could be better forced into the service of virtue, than 
by such a comment on the present paragraph, as would be 
afforded by a selection from the sentimental correspondence 
produced in courts of justice within the last thirty years, 
fairly translated into the true meaning of the words, and the 
actual object and purpose of the infamous writers. Do you 
in good earnest aim at dignity of character ? By all the 
treasures of a peaceful mind, by all the charms of an open 
countenance, I conjure you, O youth ! turn away from those 
who live in the twilight between vice and virtue. Are not 
reason, discrimination, law, and deliberate choice, the dis- 
tinguishing characters of humanity ? can aught then worthy 
of a human being proceed from a habit of soul, which would 
exclude all these and (to borrow a metaphor from Pagan- 
ism) prefer the den of Trophonius to the temple and oracles 
of the God of light ? can any thing manly, I say, proceed 
from those, who for law and light would substitute shape- 
less feelings, sentiments, impulses, which as far as they 
differ from the vital workings in the brute animals own the dif- 
ference of their former connection with the proper virtues of 
humanity ; as Dendrites derive the outlines, that constitute 
their value above other clay-stones, from the casual neigh- 
bourhood and pressure of the plants, the names of which 
they assume ; Remember, that love itself in its highest 
earthly bearing, as the ground of the marriage union, be- 
comes love by an inward fiat of the will, by a completing 



FROM BACON. 



379 



and brings forth indeed cobwebs of learning, ad- 
mirable for the fineness of thread and work, but 
of no substance or profit. 

LOGICAL AND MATHEMATICAL PAR 
OF MIND. 

The logical part of men's minds is often good ; 
but the mathematical part nothing worth ; that is, 
they can judge well of the mode of attaining any 
end: but cannot estimate the value of the end 
itself.* 



and sealing act of moral election, and lays claim to per- 
manence only under the form of duty/' 

Do we not differ chiefly in our sensibility, and may not 
sensibility be thus contemplated ? 

1. Rightly directed, or virtue. 

2. Wrongly directed, or vice. 

3. Sentimentality, or vice under the guise of virtue. 

Oft he bends 
His turret crest, and sleek enamelled neck, 
Fawning, and licks the ground, 

* There is the very same sentiment expressed by Hobbs 
in his Introduction to the Leviathan. Hobbs was the friend 
of Lord Bacon ; Aubrey says of him, " The Lord Chan- 
cellor Bacon loved to converse with him. His lordship was 
a very contemplative person, and was wont to contemplate 
in his delicious walks at Gorhambury and dictate to Mr. 



380 



SELECTIONS 



ACTION AND CONTEMPLATION. 
" That will indeed dignify and exalt knowledge, 
if contemplation and action may be more nearly 
and strongly conjoined and united together, than 



Bushell, or some other of his geutlemen, that attended him 
with paper ready to set down presently his thoughts. His 
lordship would often say that he better liked Mr. Hobbs 
taking his thoughts than any of the others, because he under- 
stood what he wrote, which the others not understanding 
my lord would many times have a hard task to make sense 
of what they writ." The following is the passage : 

For the similitude of the thoughts, and passions of one 
man, to the thoughts and passions of another, whosoever 
seeketh unto himself and considereth what he doth, when 
he does think, opine, reason, hope, fear, &c. and upon 
what grounds ; he shall thereby read and know, what are 
the thoughts and passions of all other men, upon the 
like occasions. I say the similitude of passions, which 
are the same in all men, desire, fear, hope, &c. not the 
similitude of the objects of the passions, which are the 
things desired, feared, hoped, &c. for these the constitution, 
individual, and particular education do so vary, and they 
are so easy to be kept from our knowledge, that the cha- 
racters of man's heart, blotted and confounded as they are 
with dissembling, lying, counterfeiting, and erroneous doc- 
trines, are legible only to him that searcheth hearts," 
Give e'en a fool the employment he desires 
And he soon rinds the talent it requires. 

Cooper. 



FROM BACON. 



381 



they have been ; a conjunction like unto that of 
the two highest planets, Saturn the planet of rest 
and contemplation, and Jupiter the planet of civil 

Look round the habitable world, how few 

Know their own good, or, knowing it, pursue ; 

How void of reason are our hopes and fears 1 

What in the conduct of our life appears 

So well designed, so luckily begun, 

But, when we have our wish, we wish undone. 

Dryden. 

The architect of his own fortune should rightly use his 
rule ; that is, he should form his mind to judge of the value 
of things, and to persecute the same substantially not super- 
ficially. 

" Virtue walks not in the highway, though she go per alta, 
this is the strength and the blood to virtue, to contemn 
things that be desired, and to neglect that which is feared. 
Why should man be in love with his fetters, though of 
gold?" Bacon. 

As a man thou hast nothing to commend thee to thyself, 
but that only by which thou art a man, that is by what thou 
chusest and refusest. Bishop Taylor, 

Men are most busy about that which is most remote, and 
neglect that which is nearest and most essential to them ; for 
the goods of the body neglecting those of the mind ; and for 
the goods of fortune neglecting those of the body. They 
will forfeit their conscience to please and serve their body, 
and hazard their body to get and preserve the goods of 
fortune 9 whereas they should follow a clean contrary order, 
hazarding and neglecting their body, if need be, for the 
good of the mind, and the goods of fortune for both. 

Du Moulin. 



382 



SELECTIONS 



society and action ; for no man can be so strai- 
tened and oppressed with business and an active 
course of life, but may have many vacant times 
of leisure whilst he expects the returns and tides 
of business. It remaineth therefore to be in- 
quired, how these spaces and times of leisure 
should be filled up and spent, whether in pleasures 
or study; sensuality or contemplation; as was 
well answered by Demosthenes to iEschines, a 
man given to pleasure, who, when he was told by 
way of reproach that his oratory did smell of the 
lamp, c Indeed/ said Demosthenes, ' there is a 
great difference between the things that you and 
I do by lamp-light.' 

Un philosophe regarde ce ou qu on appelle un etat dans 
le monde, comme les Tartares regardent les villes, c'est 
a dire, comme un prison. C'est un cerele ou les id£es se 
reserrent, se concentrent en otant a Tame et a Tesprit leur 
etendue et leur developpement. L'homme sans etat est le 
seul homme libre. 

Alas! said an Indian, lamenting over his companion, he 
was fed with train oil, and the bone of a bird ten inches long 
hung through the gristle of his nose ; what could he want 
more ? 

This house is turned upside down, since Robin the ostler 
died. Poor fellow never joyed since the price of oats rose, 
it was the death of him. Henry the IVth. Act 2, Scene 4. 

* "There are" says Dr. Chalmers, " perhaps no two sets 
of human beings, who comprehend less the movements, and 



FROM BACON. 



383 



GOODNESS OF NATURE. 
Neither is there only a habit of goodness 
directed by right reason: but there is in some 
men, even in nature, a disposition towards it ; as 
on the other side there is a natural malignity. For 
there be that in their nature do not affect the good 
of others. The lighter sort of malignity turneth but 
to crossness, or frowardness, or aptness to oppose, 
or difficileness, or the like ; but the deeper sort to 
envy and mere mischief. Such men, in other 
men's calamities, are as it were in season, and are 
ever on the loading part; not so good as the 
dogs that licked Lazarus' sores, but like flies that 
are still buzzing upon any thing that is raw; 
Misanthropi, that make it their practice to bring 



enter less into the cares and concerns of each other, than 
the wide and busy public on the one hand ; and, on the 
other,'those men of close and studious retirement, whom the 
world never hears of save when, from their thoughtful soli- 
tude, there issues forth some splendid discovery to set the 
world on the gaze of admiration." 

Pragmatical men should know, that learning is not like 
some small bird, as the lark, that can mount and sing and 
please herself, and nothing else : but that she holds as well of 
the hawk, that can soar aloft, and after that, when she sees 
her time, can stoop and sieze upon her prey. Bacoj*. 



384 



SELECTIONS 



men to the bough, and yet have never a tree for 
the purpose in their garden, as Timonhad. Such 
dispositions are the very errors of human nature, 
and yet they are the fittest timber to make great 
politics of : like to knee timber, that is good for 
ships that are ordained to be tossed, but not for 
building houses that shall stand firm. The parts 
and signs of goodness are many. If a man be 
gracious and courteous to strangers, it shews he 
is a citizen of the world, and that his heart is no 
island cut off from other lands, but a continent 
that joins to them. If he be compassionate to- 
wards the afflictions of others, it shews that his 
heart is like the noble tree that is wounded itself 
when it gives the balm. If he easily pardons and 
remits offences, it shews that his mind is planted 
above, so that he cannot be shot. If he be thank- 
ful for small benefits, it shews that he weighs 
men's minds and not their trash. But above all, 
if he have St. Paul's perfection, that he would 
wish to be an anathema from Christ for the sal- 
vation of his brethren, it shews much of a divine 
nature, and a kind of conformity with Christ 
himself. 



METHOD AND ARRANGEMENT. 
As young men, when they knit and shape per- 



¥ ROM BACON. 



385 



fectly, do seldom grow to a farther stature ; so 
knowledge, while it is in aphorisms and observa- 
tions it is in growth ; but when it once is compre- 
hended in exact methods, it may perchance be 
farther polished and illustrated, and accommo- 
dated for use and practice ; but it encreaseth no 
more in bulk and substance. 

CONNECTION BETWEEN BODY AND MIND. 

If any man of weak judgment do conceive that 
from the union of the body and mind, the sove- 
reignty of the mind or its immortality should be 
doubted, let him be admonished that an infant in 
the mother's womb, partakes of the accidents and 
symptoms of the mother, but, in due season, is 
separated from her 

QUEEN ELIZABETH * 
For a tablet or picture of smaller volume, in 
my judgment the most excellent is that of Queen 
Elizabeth; a prince, that, if Plutarch were now 
alive to write lives by parallels, would trouble 
him, I think, to find for her a parallel among 
women. This lady was endued with learning in 
her sex singular, and rare even amongst mascu- 



* See the Preface to Ascliam's Schoolmaster. 

c c 



386 



SELECTIONS 



line princes ; whether we speak of learning, of 
language, or of science modern or ancient, divi- 
nity or humanity; and unto the very last year of 
her life she accustomed to appoint set hours for 
reading; scarcely any young student in an uni- 
versity more daily or more duly. As for her go- 
vernment, I assure myself I shall not exceed, if I 
do affirm that this part of the island never had 
forty-five years of better times; and yet not 
through the calmness of the season, but through 
the wisdom of her regimen. 

For if there be considered on the one side the 
truth of religion established ; the constant peace 
and security; the good administration of justice; 
the temperate use of the prerogative, not slackened, 
nor much strained ; the flourishing state of learn- 
ing, sortable to so excellent a patroness; the con- 
venient esta:e of wealth and means, both of crown 
and subject ; the habit of obedience, and the mo- 
deration of discontents ; and there be considered 
on the other side, the difference of religion, the 
troubles of neighbour countries, the ambition of 
Spain, and opposition of Rome? and then, that 
she was solitary and of herself ; these things, I 
say, considered, as I could not have chosen an 
instance so recent and so proper, so I suppose I 
could not have chosen one more remarkable and 



FROM BACON. 



387 



eminent to the purpose now in hand, which is 
concerning the conjunction of learning in the 
prince with felicity in the people. 

UTILITY. 

Aristotle thought young men not fit au- 
ditors of moral philosophy : — is it not true also 
that young men are much less fit auditors of po- 
litics than morality, till they have been tho- 
roughly seasoned with religion, and the knowledge 
and manners of duties? lest their judgments be 
corrupted, and made apt to think that there are 
no true and solid moral differences ; but that all 
is to be valued according to utility and fortune.* 



* Admitting that utility is the ultimate motive of moral 
conduct is it the proximate motive 1 why do we eat and 
drink? why do we marry'? why is the constable elated with 
his employment 1 why is a lad anxious to be a soldier or a 
sailor? would the same anxiety exist if all the military were 
dressed like quakera? 

Do we approve of noble actions, from the suposition that 
they were performed from a calculation of utility, of Socrates, 
for instance, or of Latimer ? are our sentiments upon the 
plains of Marathon and in the pass of Thermopyle, of the 
same nature as when passing through a pin-manufactory ? 

Is there not an aspiring to perfection with which all 



388 



SELECTIONS 



PLEASURE OF POWER. 
The honest and the just bounds of observation 
by one person upon another ex tend no further but 



minds, and particularly ardent minds, sympathize, undis- 
turbed by any calculations of utility ? 

Do we not dislike great minds attempting to regulate 
their actions hy calculations of utility] Do we admire the 
intelligent soldier who runs away, " Relicta non bene 
parmula." The philosopher, who had a petition to Dionysius 
and no ear given to him . fell down on his knees at the tyrant's 
feet : whereupon Dionysius staid, heard him, and granted his 
request ;. but a little after some person, tender of the power 
and credit of philosophy, reproved Aristippus that he would 
offer the profession of philosophy such an indignity as, for a 
private suit, to fall at a tyrant's feet? To which he replied, 
'■'Is it my fault that he has his ears in his feet V do 
we approve of this ! 

Do preceptors of the mind attempt to instruct by calcu- 
lations of utility, like Jolter, in Smoliet's novel, who en- 
deavoured to persuade his pupil to make love by the rules of 
geometry ? 

If we attempt to act by a calculation o: utility, as a proxi- 
mate motive of conduct, will not the attempt thus to calcu- 
late end in self-gratification I When we reason under 
temptation, are we not almost sure to err I Did not 31r< 
Blind and Joseph Surface thus reason ! Agnus was the only 
word which the wolf could make of all the letters of the 
alphabet, 



FROM BACON. 389 

to understand him sufficiently whereby not to 
give him offence ; or whereby to be able to give 



Are not all general rules and laws, barriers fixed by society 
to prevent this self-gratification ? 

Is it not the distinguishing mark of a noble and generous 
mind to act without any such calculations. 

Where you feel your honor grip. 
Let that ay be your border : 
Its slightest touches, instant pause, 

Debar a' side pretences ; 
And resolutely keep its laws, 
Uncaring consequences. 
If this note should be read by any young man who ima- 
gines himself to be so benevolent as to prefer the interests 
of others to his own, and so intelligent as to be capable, 
regardless of general rules, to act upon the system of utility, 
he may be assured that there is nothing new in his 
opinions. There have, at all times, been Utilitarians. To 
the objection made by divines to the advancement of learn- 
ing that "the aspiring to overmuch knowledge, was the 
original temptation and sin, whereupon ensued the fall of 
man," Lord Bacon says, "It was not the pure knowledge 
of nature and universality, a knowledge by the light whereof 
man did give names unto other creatures in Paradise, as they 
were brought before him ? according unto their proprieties, 
which gave occasion to the fall ; but it was the proud 
knowledge of good and evil, with an intent in man to give 
law unto himself, and to depend no more upon God's com- 
mandments, which was the form of the temptation." See 
ante 204 3 where South speaks of the Utilitarians of his 



390 



SELECTIONS 



faithful counsel ; or whereby to stand upon rea- 
sonable guard and caution with respect to a man's 
self ; but to be speculative into another man, to 
the end to know how to work him or wind him ? 
or govern him, proceedeth from a heart that is 
double and cloven, and not entire and ingenuous. 

Power to do good is the true and lawful end of 
aspiring ; for good thoughts (though God ac- 
cept them), yet towards men are little better than 
good dreams, except they be put in act ; and 
that cannot be without power and place, as the 
vantage and commanding ground. Merit and 
good works is the end of man's motion: and con- 
science of the same is the accomplishment of 
man's rest : for if a man can be partaker of 
God's theatre, he shall likewise be partaker of 
God's rest, " Et conversus Deus, ut aspiceret 
opera, quae fecerunt manus suoe, vidit quod omnia 
essent bona nimis and then the sabbath. 



time, as philosophy speaks to them at all times. See 
Joseph Andrews, book iii. c. 3, where Fielding speaks of 
the Utilitarians, of his time, the passage begins, u This sort 
of life." See Robison's account of the Illuminati, a set of 
imagined philosophers, who did, or were supposed to exist, 
during the French Revolution, let him there read the letters 
of Spartacus to Cato ; but particularly see a tract published 
by Mr. Green of Ipswich, and Dr. Parr's Spital Sermon, 



FROM BACON. 



391 



PLEASURE OF KNOWLEDGE. 
The pleasure and delight of knowledge and 
learning far surpasseth all other in nature ; for 
shall the pleasures of the affections so exceed 
the pleasures of the senses, as much as the ob- 
taining of desire or victory exceedeth a song or a 
dinner ? and must not, of consequence, the plea- 
sures of the intellect or understanding exceed the 
pleasures of the affections? We see in all other 
pleasures there is a satiety, and after they be 
used, their verdour departeth ;* which sheweth 
well they be but deceits of pleasure, and not plea- 
sure, and that it was the novelty which pleased 
and not the quality ; and therefore we see that 
voluptuous men turn friars, and ambitious princes 
turn melancholy: but of knowledge! there is no 
satiety, but satisfaction and appetite are perpe- 
tually interchangeable ; and therefore appeareth 
to be good, in itself simply, without fallacy or 
accident. Neither is that pleasure of small effi- 



* Heaven and earth may pass away, but my words will 
not pass away. 

f A perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets^ 
Where no crude surfeit reigns. 

Comus,, 



392 



SELECTIONS 



cacy and contentment to the mind of man, which 
the poet Lucretius describeth elegantly ; 

Suave mari magno, turban tib us aequora ventis, &c. 

" It is a view of delight," saith he, " to stand 
or walk upon the shore side, and to see a ship 
tossed with tempest upon the sea, or to be in a 
fortified tower, and to see two battles join upon a 
plain. But it is a pleasure incomparable for the 
mind of man to be settled, landed, and fortified 
in the certainty of truth, and from thence to des- 
cry and behold the errors, perturbations, labours, 
and wanderings up and down of other men." So 
always that this prospect be with pity, and not 
with swelling or pride. 

LOVER OF TRUTH. 

Our trumpet doth not summon, and encou- 
rage men to tear and rend one another w 7 ith con- 
tradictions; and, in a civil rage, to bear arms and 
wage w T ar against themselves; but rather that, 
a peace concluded between them, they may, with 
joint forces, direct their strength against nature 
herself :* and" take her high towers, and dismantle 



* Diderot, in bis Tract " De L'interpretation De La 
Nature," says, u L'interet de la verite demanderoit que 
ceux qui reflecbissent daignassent enfin s'associer a ceux qui 



FROM BACON. 393 

her fortified holds, and thus enlarge the borders 



se remuent, afin que le speculative fut dispense de se don- 
ner du mouvement ; que le manoeuvre eut un but dans les 
mouvemens infini/s qu'il se donne ; que tous nos efforts se 
trouvassent reunis et diriges en meme-temps contre la re- 
sistance de la nature : et que, dans cette espece de ligne 
philosophique, chacun fit le role qui lui convient. 

Lloyd in bis Life of Wilson, says, " An argument of a 
great capacity in a man of his great place, and greater im- 
ployment ; whose candour was yet equal with his parts, in- 
genuously passing by the particular infirmities of those who 
contributed anything to the advancement of a general learn- 
ing ; judging it fitter that men of abilities should jointly engage 
against ignorance and barbarism, than severally clash with 
one another. 

From a community of goods there must needs arise 
contention, whose enjoyment should be greater, and from 
that contention all kind of calamities must unavoidably 
ensue, which, by the instinct of nature every man is 
taught to shun. Having, therefore, thus arrived at two 
maxims of human nature, the one arising from the concu- 
piscible part, which desires to appropriate to itself the use of 
those things in which all others have a joint interest ; the 
other proceeding from the rational, which teaches every man 
to fly a contra-natural dissolution as the greatest mischief that 
can arrive to nature ; which principles being laid down, I 
seem from them to have demonstrated by a most evident con- 
nection in this little work of mine, first the absolute necessity 
of leagues and contracts, and thence the rudiments both of 
moral and civil prudence. Hobbs. 



394 SELECTIONS, & c . 

of man's dominion, so far as Almighty God of his 
goodness shall permit. 

ON GOVERNMENT. 
In Orpheus's theatre, all beasts and birds as- 
sembled ; and forgetting their several appetites, 
some of prey, some of game, some of quarrel, 
stood all sociably together, listening unto the airs 
and accords of the harp; the sound whereof 
no sooner ceased, or was drowned by some louder 
noise, but every beast returned to his own nature ; 
wherein is aptly described the nature and condi- 
tion of men, who are full of savage and unre- 
claimed desires of profit, of lust, of revenge : 
which as long as they give ear to precepts, to laws, 
to religion, sweetly touched with eloquence and 
persuasion of books, of sermons, of harangues, so 
long is society and peace maintained ; but if 
these instruments be silent, or sedition and tumult 
make them not audible, all things dissolve into 
anarchy and confusion.* 



* See ante page 28. 



- 

! 



NOTES. 



I 



I 



! 



NOTES, 



NOTE C.— Text 66. 

pleasures of tfje mnUerstanUtng. 

See text, page 182, 183, and 259-60-1-2-8-4. 
Mr. Bentham's Work upon the Principles of Morals and 
Legislation, chap. v. contains a catalogue of the different 
pleasures which we are capable of enjoying and the differ- 
ent pains to which we are exposed. Of all pleasures 
none are more exquisite, none so permanent as the plea- 
sures of the understanding. See Bacon's observations in 
note, ante 182. 

How charming is divine philosophy ! 
Not harsh and crabbed as dull fools suppose ; 
But musical as is Apollo's lute, 
And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets, 
Where no crude surfeit reigns. Comus. 

Hume in his Life says, " My family, however, was not 
rich, and being myself a younger brother, my patrimony, 
according to the mode of my country, was of course very 
slender; my father, who passed for a man of parts, died 
when I was an infant, leaving me with an elder brother and 
a sister, under the care of our mother, a woman of singular 
merit, who, though young and handsome, devoted herself en- 
tirely to the rearing and educating of her children. I passed 
through the ordinary course of education with success, and 
was seized very early with a passion for literature, which 
lias been the ruling passion of my life, and the great source 



398 



NOTE C. 



of my enjoyments. My studious disposition, my sobriet}', 
and my industry, gave my family a notion that the law was 
a proper profession for me : hut I found an insurmountable 
aversion to every thing but the pursuits of philosophy and 
general learning, and while they fancied I was poring upon 
Voet and Vinius, Cicero and Virgil were the authors which 
I was secretly devouring. 

Ascham, speaking of Lady Jane Grey says, " Before I 
went into Germany I came to Broadgate in Leicestershire, 
to take my leave of the noble Lady Jane Grey, to whom I 
was exceeding much beholding. Her parents, the Duke 
and Duchess, with all the household, gentlemen and gentle- 
women, were hunting in the park. 1 found her in her 
chamber reading Phaedou Platonis in Greek, and this with 
as much delight as some gentlemen would read a merry tale 
in Boccaccio. After salutation and duty done, with some 
other talk, I asked her ' why she would lose such pastime 
in the park?' smiling she answered me, ' I wisse all their 
sport in the park is but a shadow to that pleasure that I find 
in Plato. Alas ! good folk, they never felt what true plea- 
sure meant.' ' And how came you, Madam,' quoth 1, ' to 
this deep knowledge of pleasure ? and what did chiefly 
allure you unto it, seeing not many women, but very few 
men have attained thereunto V ( I will tell you,' quoth she, 
£ and tell you a truth,' &c. 

(See Sir T. Brown's observations, ante 333, "The Stu- 
dent.") 

Against the inconveniences and vexations of long life 
may be set the pleasures of discovering truth, one of the 
greatest pleasures that age affords. Dr. Johnson. 

Middleton beautifully says, " I persuade myself that the 
life and faculties of man, at the best but short and limited, 
cannot be employed more rationally or laudably than in the 
search of knowledge : and especially of that sort which re- 
lates to our duty, and conduces to our happiness. In these 
enquiries, there tore, wherever 1 perceive any glimmering of 
truth before me, 1 readily pursue and endeavour to trace it 
to its source, without any reserve or caution of pushing the 
discovery too far, or opening too great a glare of it to the 
public. I look upon the discovery of any thing which is true 
as a valuable acquisition of society, which cannot possibly- 
hurt or obstruct the good effect of any other truth what- 
soever : for they all partake of one common essence, and 



"NOTE C. 



399 



necessarily coincide with each other ; and like the drops of 
rain which fall separately into the river, mix themselves at 
once with the stream, and strengthen the general current* 

Gibbon says, " La lecture est la nourriture de l'esprit: 
c'est par elle que nous connoissons notre Createur, ses 
ouvrages, et surtout, nous memes et nos semblables. 

So Boyle says, " The things for which 1 hold life valua- 
ble are the satisfaction that accrues from the improvement 
of knowledge and the exercise of piety. 

(See page 243, " On the Pleasures of Study and Con- 
templation," by Bishop Hall.) 

The following are observations by Lord Bacon : " As the 
eye rejoices to receive the light, the ear to hear sweet 
music ; so the mind, which is the man, rejoices to discover 
the secret works, the varieties and beauties of nature. The 
inquiry of truth, which is the love making or wooing it ; the 
knowledge of truth, which is the presence of it ; and the 
belief of truth, which is the enjoying it, is the sovereign good 
of our nature. The unlearned man knows not what it is to 
descend into himself or to call himself to account, or the 
pleasure of that " suavissima vita indies sentire se fieri me- 
liorem." The mind of man doth wonderfully endeavour and 
extremely covet that it may not be pensile ; but that it may 
light upon something fixed and immoveable, cn which, as on 
a firmament, it may support itself in its swift motions and 
disquisitions. Aristotle endeavours to prove that in all 
motions of bodies there is some point quiescent ; and very 
elegantly expounds the fable of Atlas, who stood fixed and 
bore up the heavens from failing, to be meant of the poles of 
the w T orld whereupon the conversion is accomplished. In 
like manner, men do earnestly seek to have some Atlas or 
axis of their cogitations within themselves, which may, in 
some measure, moderate the fluctuations and wheelings of 
the understanding, fearing it may be the falling of their 
heaven. 

The discovery of the different properties of creatures, and 
the imposition of names was the occupation of Adam in 
Paradise. 

Knowledge is " pabulum animi," says Bacon ; and the 
nature of man's appitites is as the Israelites in the desert, 
who were weary of manna, and would fain have turned (t ad 
ollas carnium." 

See from the two following anecdotes the difference be- 



400 



BOTE X. 



tvreen the statesman who is so unwise as to neglect intel- 
lectual improvement and the philosopher. The biographer 
of Sir Robert Walpole tells us that u though he had not 
forgotten his classical attainments he had little taste for 
literary occupation. Sir Robert once expressed his regret 
on this subject to Mr. Fox in his library at Houghton, l< I 
wish," he said, " I took as much delight in reading as you 
do, it would be the means of alleviating many tedious 
hours in my present retirement : but, to my misfortune, I 
derive no pleasure from such pursuits." 

One day, Lord Bacon was dictating to Dr. Rawley some 
of the experiments in his Sylva. The same day, he had 
sent a friend to court, to receive- for him a final answer 
touching the effect of a grant which had been made him 
by King James. He had hitherto only hope of it, and hope 
deferred ; and he was desirous to know the event of the 
matter, and to be freed, one way or other, from the sus- 
pense of his thoughts. His friend returning, told him 
plainly, that he must thenceforth despair of that grant, how 
much soever his fortunes needed it. ' Be it so,' said his 
Lordship ; and then he dismissed his friend very cheerfully, 
with thankful acknowledgments of his service. His friend 
being gone, he came straightway to Dr. Rawley, and said 
thus to him, 'Well, sir, yon business won't go on, let us go 
on with this, for this is in our power.' And then he dic- 
tated to him afresh, for some hours, without the least hesi- 
tansie of speech, or discernible interruption of thought, 



NOTE X.— Text 166, 

Cause an* (Bftttu 

L There is through all nature a regular succession of 
events. 

If a spark be put to gunpowder it will explode. If a stone 
strike a par.e of glass it will break , if ice be exposed to 
heat it will melt. It is thus we see that certain events 
regularly succeed each othc-r in the inanimate world, and 
there is the same succession of events in bodies animate. 

Take a frozen snake with some of the snow around it and 
place it before a small fire ; take a lupin or any other seed 



NOTE X. 



401 



and place it early in the month of May in the ground, or 
take some new laid eggs and place them in due warmth, 
and you may perceive the snake to move, to open its eyes, 
and soon to quit the snow in which it was shrowded : the 
lupin will rise above the surface of the earth and you will 
see branches and leaves and flowers : the egg will open and 
a small bird appear. It is thus we see that there is a re- 
gular sequence of events by the action of inanimate upon 
animate bodies. 

There is th j same sequence of events attendant upon the 
action of animate bodies on each other : of mind upon 
mind. Take, for instance, the effect of distress upon the 
female mind. In some book of Travels, I think it is 
Mungo Park's in Africa, he says, "I never when in dis- 
tress and misery applied for relief to a female without find- 
ing pity, and if she had the power, assistance." Griffith in 
his Travels,, says, — 

On the northern side of the plain we had just entered, 
was a large encampment of these people, composed of brown 
and white tents, which, though low and small, wore an as- 
pect even of comfort as well as regularity. Being in ab- 
solute want of milk, I determined to solicit the assistance 
of these Turcomans. Approaching the tent therefore with 
gradual step and apparent indifference, I passed several 
without observing any probability of succeeding; children 
only were to be seen near the spot where I was, and men 
with their flocks at a certain distance. Advancing still fur- 
ther, I saw a woman at the entrance of a small tent, occu- 
pied in domestic employment: convinced that an appeal to 
the feelings of the female sex, offered with decency by a man 
distressed with hunger, would not be rejected, 1 held out 
my wooden bowl, and reversing it, made a salutation accord- 
ing to the forms of the country, urging my suit by gestures. 
The kind Turcomaunee covered her face precipitately and 
retired within the tent, -she was alone, 1 did not advance 
a step, until that curiosity which it were ungracious in me 
to disapprove, imtuced hrr to peep from behind her coarse 
retreat. She saw me unassuming : my inverted bowl still 
explained my wants, and a salutation repeated seemed to 
be addressed to her hospitality. The timidity of her sex, 
the usages of her country and even the fear of danger, gave 
way to the benevolence of her heart. She went to the tent 
again, returned speedily with a bowl of milk, and advancing 

D D 



402 



NOTE X. 



towards me with a glance more than half averted, filled my 
bowl to the brim and vanished. Griffith's Travels. 

II. All the order and happiness in the world depends upon the 
regular sequence of events. 

All things that are, have some operation not violent or 
casual. Neither doth any thing ever begin to exercise the 
same, without some fore-conceived end for which it worketh. 
And the end which it worketh for is not obtained unless the 
work be also fit to obtain it by. For unto every end every 
operation will not serve. That which doth assign unto each 
thing the kind, that which doth moderate the force and 
power, that which appoints the form and measure of working, 
the same we term a law. So that no certain end could ever 
be attained, unless the actions whereby it is attained were 
regular, that is to say, made suitable, fit, and correspondent 
unto their end, by some canon rule of law. 

Hooker Ecclesiastical Politie. 

The blessings which result from the regular sequence of 
events will be evident by a moment's consideration of the 
misery attendant upon an interruption of this regularity ; — 
Suppose, for instance, that calculating upon the nutritious 
effects of food, it was to have the effect of poison, or that 
sugar had the effect of arsenic ; or that fire, instead of exhi- 
larating by a genial warmth, had the violent effects of gun- 
powder ; or that, at the moment of attack, gunpowder 
ceased to be inflammable, is it not obvious what misery 
must result ? See a beautiful passsage from Hooker, ante 
636. 

III. Our power depends upon our knowledge of the sequence 
of events. 

Archimedes by his knowledge of optics was enabled to 
burn the Roman fleet before Syracuse, and baffle the un- 
ceasing efforts of Marcellus to take the town. — An Athenian 
admiral delayed till evening to attack, on the coast of Attica, 
a Lacedemonian fleet, which was disposed in a circle, be- 
cause he knew that an evening breeze always sprung up 
from the land. The breeze arose, the circle was disordered, 
and at that moment he made his onset. The Athenian cap- 
tives by repeating the strains of Euripides were enabled to 
charm their masters into a grant of their liberty. 



NOTE X, 



403 



IV. When two events, both of which are perceptible, follow 
each other without any connection between them, and the cause 
of the succeeding event is latent, there is a tendency to ascribe 
the succeeding event to the improper cause. 

The anecdote from Bishop Latimer as toTentercU n steeple 
is an instance of this species of error, ante 166. 

A common instance of this species of error is in the love- 
note of the spider, called the death watch. Sitting by the 
bed of a sick or dying friend, when all is still, the noise of 
the spider is heard a short time, perhaps, before the death of 
the sufferer ; and the events are, therefore, supposed to be 
connected. Astrology is, perhaps, founded upon this de- 
lusion, 

V. When the connection of events is unknown, Ignorance 
refers the event to what is called " Chance :" and Superstition, 
ichich is ignorance in another form, to the immediate agency of 
some superior benevolent or malevolent being : but Philosophy 
endeavours to discover the antecedent in the chain t f evews. 

See the anecdote respecting the Spectre of the Broken, in 
note, ante 265, as to the different conclusions of ignorance 
and philosophy. 

Dr. Arnot, in his work on Physics, says, " It happened 
once on board a ship sailing along the coast of Brazil, 100 
miles from land, that the persons walking on deck, when 
passing a particular spot, heard most distinctly the sounds 
of bells, varying as in human rejoicings. All on board list- 
ened and were convinced ; but the phenomenon was mys- 
terious and inexplicable." The different ideas which this 
would excite in the minds of ignorance and intelligence may 
be easily conceived. " Some months afterwards," continues 
Dr, Arnot, " it was ascertained that, at the time of observation 
the bells of the city of St. Salvador, on the Brazilian coast, 
had been ringing on the occasion of a festival ; the sound 
therefore, favoured by a gentle wind, had travelled over 
100 miles of smooth water ; and striking the wide-spread 
sail of the ship, rendered concave by a gentle breeze, had 
been brought to a focus, and rendered perceptible." Of the 
consternation occasioned m uuinformed minds by lightning 
we are all aware. How different is the effect upon unin- 
formed minds, and upon the mind of the philosopher in his 
quiet retreat. Dr. Franklin, speaking of conductors, says, 
" A rod was fixed to the top of my chimney, and extended 
about nine feet above it. From the foot of this rod, a wire 



404 



NOTE X. 



the thickness of a goose-quill came through a covered glass 
tube in'the roof, and down through the well of the staircase ; 
the lower end connected with the iron spear of a lamp. 
On the staircase opposite to mv chamber door the wire was 
divided ; the ends separated about six inches, a little bell 
on each end, and between the bells a little brass ball sus- 
pended by a silk thread, to play between and strike the bells 
when clouds passed with electricity in them." Instances of 
the same nature may with a little observation be constantly 
discovered. Dreams are, to the ignorant, often objects of 
terror; to the intelligent they are evidence of some diseased 
state of the body, or agitated state of the mind. 

VI. Ignorance, bu stopping at second causes has a tendency, 
forgetting; the p ime cause, to he scep'.ical ; but philosophy looks 
through to the cause of all t angs. 

" Looks through Xature, up to Xature's God." 

Lord Bacon says, u For certain it is that God worketh 
nothing in nature but by second causes ; and if they would 
have it otherwise believed it is mere imposture, as it were, in 
favor towards Go.l ; and nothing else but to offer to the Au- 
thor of truth the unclean sacrifice of a lie. Bat farther, itis 
an assured truth, and a conclusion of experience, that a little 
or superficial knowledge of philosophy may incline the mind 
of man to atheism, but a farther proceeding therein doth 
bring the mind back again to religion ; for in the entrance 
of philosophy, when the second causes, which are next unto 
the senses, do orh-r themselves to the mind of man, if it dwell 
and stay there, it may induce some oblivion of the highest 
cause : but when a man passeth on further, and seeth the 
dependence of causes, and the works of Providence : then, 
according to the allegory of the poets, he will easily believe 
that the highest link of natuie's chain must needs be tied to 
the foot of Jupiter's chair." 

And to the same effect, David Hume in his general corol- 
lary at the conclusion of his Essays, says, " Though the 
stupidity of men, barbarous and oninstructed, be so great, 
that they may not see a sovereign author in the more obvious 
works of nature, to which they are so much familiarized, yet 
it scarce seems possible, that any one of good understand- 
ing should reject the idea, when once it is suggested to him. 
A purpose, an intention, a design, is evident in everything ; 
and when our comprehension is so far enlarged as to con- 
template the first rise of this visible system, we must adopt. 



NOTE X. 



405 



with the strongest conviction, the idea of some intelligent 
cause or author. 

So, too, Browne in his beautiful work on Cause and 
Effect,, says, " Wherever we turn our eyes, to the earth, 
to the heavens, to the myriads of beings that live and 
move around us, or to those more than myriads of worlds, 
which seem themselves almost like animate inhabitants 
of the infinity through which they range ; above us, be- 
neath us, on every side, we discover with a certainty that 
admits not of doubt, intelligence and design, that must have 
preceded the existence of every thing which exists." The 
power of the Omnipotent is indeed so transcendent in 
itself, that the loftiest imagery and language which we can 
borrow from a few passing events in the boundlessness of 
nature, must be feeble to express its force and universality. 
It seems, therefore, that 

1. There is through all nature a regular sequence of 
events. 

2. All the order and happiness in the world depends upon 
the regular sequence of events. 

3. Our power depends upon our knowledge of the se- 
quence of events. 

4. When two events, both of which are perceptible, fol- 
low each other without any connection between them, and 
the cause of the succeeding event is latent, there is a ten- 
dency to ascribe the succeeding event to the improper 
cause. 

5. When the connection of events is unknown, Ignorance 
refers the event to what is called " Chance:" and Supersti- 
tion, which is ignorance in another form, to the immediate 
agency of some superior benevolent or malevolent being: 
but Philosophy endeavours to discover the antecedent in the 
chain of events. 

6. Ignorance, by stopping at second causes, has a ten- 
dency, forgetting the prime cause, to be sceptical : but phi- 
losophy looks through to the cause of all things. 



406 



InOTE f. 



NOTE P.— Text 156, 

SHrle Curtoattg* 

This note contains a few observations upon — 

1. Useful Knowledge. 

2. Connection Between Error and Truth. 

3. Different Sorts* of Knowledge. 

4. All Know edge is Valuable. 

5. Excessive A tta< hment to Particular Studies. 

USEFUL KNOWLEDGE. 

The utility of two species of knowledge is indisputable. 

First, — 'I he knowledge by each member of Society, of 
that subject or science by which he is to gai*i his subsistence^ 
—as by a lawyer, of 'aw, or by a physician, o*' medicine— and 

Secondly — The knowledge of ourselves - In the impor- 
tance of knowledge of man, all authors, antiei t and modern, 
concur. Among the precepts or aphorisms admitted by gene- 
ral consent, and inculcated by frequent lepetition, there 
is none more famous, among the masters of an< ient wisdom 
than that compendious lesson, il Be acquainted with thy- 
self:" — Ascribed by some to an oracle, and bv others, to 
Chilo of Lacedemon. Lord Bacon m his entrance upon 
human philosophy says ; — " Now let us come to that 
knowledge whereunto the ancient oracle directeth us, which 
is, the knowledge of ourselves ; which deserves the more 
accurate handing by how much it toucheth us more nearly. 
This knowledge is to man the end and term of knowledge ; 
but of nature herself, a portion only." 

CONNECTION BETWEEN ERROR AND TRUTH. 

This is noticed by many philosophers and divines by 
whom we are admonished, that Truth and Error, Good and 
111, are constantly intermingled -md confounded. 

See ante 358. 

" Good and evil," says Bishop I v or, "in the field of 
this world grow up together, almost msepara y, and the 
knowledge of good, is so involved and interv oven with the 
knowledge of evil, and in so many cunning resemblances 
hardly to be discerned, that those confused seeds whichNvere 
imposed upon Psyche, as an incessant labour to cull out and 
sort asunder, were not more intermixed." 



NOTE P. 



407 



The connection between truth and error, or rather how 
error leads to truth may be seen in tracing the progress of 
any invention, as the steam-engine ; or of any science ; of 
astronomy for instance, of which there is, to any person de- 
sirous of seeing how light arises out of darkness, a very inte- 
resting delineation in the posthumous works of Adam Smith. 

CONNECTION BETWEEN DIFFERENT SORTS OF KNOWLEDGE. 

Upon this subject the works of Bacon abound with ob- 
servations. " The partition of science is not," he says, 
" like several lines that meet in one angle ; but rather like 
branches of trees that meet in one stem, which stem for some 
dimension and space is entire and continued before it break, 
and part itself into arms and boughs." 

In shewing this connection in another part of the work, 
he says, " The quavering upon a stop in music, gives the 
same delight to the ear, that the playing of light upon the 
water, or the sparkling of a diamond gives to the eye," 
" Splendet tremulo sub lumine Pontus." 

So the Persian magic so much celebrated consists chiefly 
in this ; to observe the respondency and the architectures, and 
fabrics of things natural, and of things civil. Neither are all 
these whereof we have spoken, and others of like nature mere 
similitudes only, as men of narrow observation may perchance 
conceive, but one and the very same footsteps, and seals of 
nature printed upon several subject or matters. 

Acting upon this opinion, Bacon predicts that the mode 
of discovering the law of the celestial bodies, will, from the 
uniformity, of all the laws of nature, be by observing the laws 
of bodies terrestrial. His words are : — 

"Whoever shall reject the feigned divorces of superlunary 
and sublunary bodies, and shall intentively observe the appe- 
tences of matter, and the most universal passions, which in 
either globe are exceeding potent, and transverberate the 
universal nature of things, he shall receive clear information 
concerning celestial matters from the things seen here with 
us : and contrariwise from those motions which are practised 
in heaven, he shall learn many observations which are now 
latent, touching the motion of bodies here below, not only so 
far as their inferior motions are moderated by superior, but in 
regard they have a mutual intercourse by passions common to 
them both." 

" We must openly profess," Bacon says, "that our hopes 
of discovering the truth with regard to the celestial bodies, 



408 



NOTE F. 



depends upon the observation of the common properties, or 
the passions and appetites, of the matter of both states ; for as 
to the separation that is supposed betwixt the aetherial and 
sublunary bodies, it seems to me no more than a fiction, and 
a degree of superstition mixed with rashness, &c. — Our chiefest 
hope and dependance in the consideration of the celestial 
bodies is, therefore, placed in physical reasons, though not 
such as are commonly so called ; but those laws which no 
diversity of place or region can abolish, break through, dis- 
turb, or alter/' 

So, too, Diderot says, — " Etjedis, Heureux le Geornetre en 
qui une etude con>ommee des sciences abstraites n'aura point 
affoibli le gout des 1 eaux-arts, a qui Horace et Tacite soient 
aussi familieres que Newton ; qui saura decouvrir les proprie- 
tes d'une courbe, etsei tir lesbeautes d'un poete ; dont l'esprit 
et les ouvrages seront de tons les temps, et qui aura le merite 
de toutes les academies." 

It is rather an interesting fact that what Bacon theorised, 
Newton is said to have practised. The story is ; — " Newton 
retired from the university to avoid the plague which raged 
with great violence. Sitting under a tree in an orchard, an 
apple fell upon his head. As there is motion, there must be 
a force which produces it. Is this force of gravity confined to 
the surface of the earth, or does it extt nd to the heavenly 
bodies V 

" Let this be a rule therefore," Bacon says, " that all divi- 
sions of knowledge be so accepted and applied, as may rather 
design forth and distinguish sciences into parts ; than cut and 
pull them asunder into pieces ; that so the continuance and 
entireness of knowledge may ever be preserved. For the 
contrary practice hath made particular sciences to become 
barren, shallow and erroneous : while they have not been 
nourished, maintained, and rectified, from the common foun- 
tain and nursery. So we see Cicero the orator complained of 
Socrates, and his school ; that he was the first that separated 
philosophy and rhetoric: whereupon rhetoric became a verbal 
and an empty art. And it is also evident, that the opinion 
of Copernicus, touching the rotation of the earth, (which now 
is maintained) because it is not repugnant to the phenomena, 
cannot be reversed by astronomical principles: yet by the 
principles of natural philosophy, truly applied, it may. So 
we see also that the science of medicine, if it be destitute and 
forsaken of natural philosophy, it is not much better than em- 
perical practice. 



3 



NOTE P. 



409 



ALL KNOWLEDGE IS VALUABLE. 

As error may thus lead to truth, and as there is this union 
between different sciences, it seems to follow that all know- 
ledge is valuable, and that a well ordered mind, may out of 
every evil* extract some good, with no other chemistry than 
wisdom and serenity. 

There is an interesting illustration of this position in a 
sermon published by Dr. Ramsden, assistant professor of divi- 
nity at Cambridge, who, in shewing the tendency of all 
knowledge to form the heart of a nation, says : — 

" We will venture to say how in the mercy of God to man, 
this heart comes to a nation, and how its exercise or affection 
appears. It comes by priests, by lawgivers, by philosophers, 
by schools, by education, by the nurse's care, the mother's 
anxiety, the father's severe brow. It comes by letters, by 
science, by every art, by sculpture, painting, and poetry ; by 
the song on war, on peace, on domestic virtue, on a beloved and 
magnanimous king ; by the Iliad, by the Odysst y, by tragedy, 
by comedy. It comes by sympathy, by love, by the marriage 
union, by friendship, generosity, meekness, temperance, by 
virtue, and example of virtue. It comes by sentiments 
of chivalry, by romance, by music, by decorations and mag- 
nificence of building, by the culture of the body, by com- 
fortable clothing, by fashions in dress, by luxury and com- 
merce. It comes by the severity ; the melancholy, the benig- 
nity of the countenance ; by rules of politeness, ceremo- 
nies, formalities, solemnities. It comes by rites atiei dant on 
law, by religion ; by the oath of office, by the venerable as- 
sembly, by the judge's procession and trumpets, by the disgrace 
and punishment of crimes; by public fasts, public prayer, by 
meditation, by the bible, by the consecration of churches, by 
the sacred festival, by the cathedral's gloom and choir. 
Whence the heart of a nation comes, we have, perhaps, suffi- 
ciently explained. And it must appear to what most awful 
obligation and duty we hold all those liom whom this heart 
takes its nature and shape, our king, our princes, our nobles, 
all who wear the badge of office or honour ; all priests, judges, 
senators pleaders, interpreters of law, all instuictors of 
youth, all seminaries of education, all parents, all learned men, 
all professors of science and art, all teachers of manners. 
Upon -them depends the fashion of the nation's heart. By 
them is it to be chastised, refined and purified. By them is 



410 



NOTE P. 



the state to lose the character and title of the beast of prey. 
By them are the iron scales to fall off, and a skin of youth, 
beauty, freshness, and polish, to come upon it. By them it is 
to be made so tame and gentle as that a child may lead it." 

If there is any truth in these observations, there results a 
rule of Lord Bacon's of considerable importance. Let not 
the mind be fixed ; but kept open to receive continual 
amendment, that mind alone being in a perfect state for 
the acquisition of knowledge which is capable at any time 
to acquire any sort of knowledge ; the defects of the under- 
standing from this cause, being an inability at particular times, 
to acquire knowledge ; or an inability to acquire particular 
sorts of knowledge. He says, " Certainly custom is most per- 
fect when it beginneth in young years ; this we call education, 
which is in effect but an early custom. So we see in lan- 
guages, the tongue is more pliant to all expressions and sounds; 
the joints are more supple to all feats of activity and motions 
in youth than afterwards : for it is true, that late learners 
cannot so well take the ply, except it be in some minds that 
have not suffered themselves to fix, but they kept their minds 
open and prepared to receive continual amendment, which is 
exceeding rare." 

EXCESSIVE ATTACHMENT TO PARTICULAR STUDIES. 

" That different men are attached to different studies is a 
truth too obvious to require illustration. i Attachment to 
particular studies is,' says Lord Bacon, ' an idol of the un- 
derstanding:' 'men,' he says, 1 are fond of particular sciences 
and studies, either because they believe themselves the authors 
and inventors thereof, or because they have bestowed much 
pains upon them, and principally applied themselves thereto.' " 



NOTE Y. — Text 318. 

pleasures of Smagfnattotu 

I. The mind aspires to perfection. 

Ths world is inferior to the soul, by reason whereof there is, 
agreeable to the spirit of man, a more ample greatness, 
a more exact goodness, and a more absolute variety than can 
be found in the nature of things. Bacon. 

The soul during her confinement within this prison of the 
body, is doomed by fate to undergo a severe penance. For 



NOTE Y. 



411 



her native seat is in heaven ; and it is with reluctance that she 
is forced down from those celestial mansions into these lower 
regions, where all is foreign and repugnant to her divine nature. 
But the gods, I am persuaded, have thus widely disseminated 
immortal spirits, and clothed them with human i odies, that 
there might be a race of in diigent creatures, not only to 
have dominion over this our earth, but to contemplate the host 
of heaven, and imitate in their moral conduct the same 
beautiful order ami uniformity, so conspicuous in those 
splendid orbs. (icero. 

This purifying of wit, this inriching of memory, ennobling 
of judgment, and enlarging of conceit, which commonly we 
call learning, under what name soever it come forth, or to 
what immediate end soever it be dim ted, the final end is to 
lead and draw us to as high a perfection, as our degenerate 
souls, made worse by their clay-lodgings, can be capable of. 
Some give themselves to astronomy ; some to be natural 
and supernatural philosophers ; some an admirable delight 
drew to music ; and some the certainty oi demonstration to 
the mathematics ; but all, one and other, having this scope 
to know, and by knowledge to lift up the min d from the 
dungeon of the body, to the enjoying his own divine essence. 

Sir Philip Sydney. 

If there be a radical propensity in our nature to do that which 
is wrong, there is on the other hand a counteracting power 
within it, or an impulse, by means of the action of the Divine 
spirit upon our minds, which urges us to do that which is right. 
If the voice of temptation, clothed in musical and seducing 
accents, charms us one way, the voice of holiness ^peaking to 
us from within in a solemn and power ul manner, commands 
us another. Does one man obtain a victory over his corrupt 
affections? an immediate perception of pleasure, like the feel- 
ing of a reward divinely conferred upon him, is noticed. Does 
another fall prostrate beneath their power? a painful feeling, 
and such as pronounces to him the sentence of reproof and 
punishment is found to follow. 

Whatever the Deity may have bestowed upon me in 
other respects, he has certainly inspired me, if any ever were 
inspired, with a passion for the good and fair. Nor did 
Ceres, according to the fable, ever seek her daughter Pros- 
erpine with such unceasing solicitude, as I have sought this 
perfect model of the beautiful in all the forms and appear- 
ances of things I am wont, day and night, to continue my 
search; and I follow in the way in which you go before. 

Milton's Letter to Deodati. 



412 



NOTE Y. 



The highborn soul 
Disdains to rest her heaven-aspiring wing 
Beneath its native quarry. Tir'd of earth 
And this diurnal scene, she springs aloft. Akenside. 

Our hearts ne'er bow but to superior worth, 

]S T or ever fail of their allegiance there. Young, 

Though I have lost 
Much lustre of my native brightness — lost 
To be beloved of God — 1 have not lost 
To love, at least contemplate and admire, 
What I see excellent in good, or fair, 
Or virtuous. Milton. 

Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth 
Of noble natures : 

In spite of all, 
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall 
Jrom our dark spirits. Keats. 

2. Does not the mind delight in the Invisible and the Ob- 
scure ? 

See ante pages 345, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. 

Ask the faithful youth, 
Why the cold urn of her whom long he loved 
So often fills his arms ; so often draws 
His lonely footsteps at the silent hour, 
To pay the mournful tribute of his tears ? 
Oh ! he will tell thee, that the wealth of worlds, 
Should ne'er seduce his bosom to forego 
That sacred hour, when, stealing from the noise 
Of care and envy, sweet remembrance sooths 
With virtue's kindest locks his aching breast, 
And turns his tears to rapture. 

3. Does not the Mind delight hi its creative Powers — of Imi- 
tation, — of Exttnsicn, — of Personification, — of Combination, 
&c. &c. ? 

Do not the -pleasures of imagination enable the mind to in- 
dulge its delight in aspiring to perfection ? 

In regions mild of calm and serene air, 
Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot, 
Which men call earth, and with low thoughted care 
Confined, and pestered in this pinfold here. 
Strive to keep up a frail and feverish being, &e. 



NOTE Y. 



413 



Dc not the pleasures of imagination enable the mind to 
indulge its love of the invisible, and its creative powers? 

There is a spirit within us, which arrays 
The thing we doat upon with colourings 
Richer than roses — brighter than the beams 
Of the clear sun at morning, when he flings 
His shower of light upon the peach, or plays 
With the green leaves of June, and strives to dart 
Into some great forest's heart, 
And scare the Sylvan from voluptuous dreams. 

Barry Cornwall. 

ON THE NIGHTINGALE. 

The voice I hear this passing night was heard 

In ancient days by emperor and clown: 
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path 
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, 
She stood in tears amid the alien corn. Keats. 

SATURN. 

Deep in the shady sadness cf a vale 

Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, 

Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star, 

Sat gray-bair'd Saturn, quiet as a stone, 

Still as the silence round abaut his lair ; 

Forest on forest hung about his head 

Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there, 

Not so much life as on a summer's day 

Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass, 

But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest. 

Keats. 

It is a stormy night, and the wild sea, 

That sounds for ever, now upon the beach 

Is pouring all its power. Each after each, 

The hurrying waves cry out rejoicingly, 

And, crowding onwards, seem as they would reach 

The height I tread upon. The winds are high, 

And the quick lightnings shoot along the sky, 

At intervals. It is an hour to teach 

Vain man his insignificance ; and yet, 

Though all the elements in their might have met, 



414 



NOTE Y. 



At every pause comes ringing on iny ear 

A sterner murmur, and I seem to hear 

The voice of Silence, sounding from her throne 

Of darkness mightier than all — but all alone — 

Barry Cornwall. 
Two voices are there ; one is of the sea, 
One of the mountains ; each a mighty voice: 
In'both from age to age thou didst rejoice, 
They were thy chosen music, liberty ! 
There came a tyrant and with holy glee 
Thou fought'st against him ; but has vainly striven: 
Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art driven, 
Where not a torrent murmur's heard by thee. 
Of one deej) bliss thine ear hath been bereft : 
Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left ; 
For high soul'd maid, what sorrow would it be 
That mountain floods should thunder as before, 
And ocean bellow from his rocky shore, 
And neither awful voice be heard by thee ! 

Wordsworth. 

Does Fiction exceed Reality ? 
Bacon, speaking of Magic, says, " surely he shall not much 
err, who shall say that this kind of magic, is as far differing 
in truth of natu-e, from such a knowledge as we require, 
as the Books of the Jests of Arthur of Britain, or of Hugh 
of Burdeaux, differs from Caesars Commentaries in truth of 
story. For it is manifest, that Caesar did greater things ' de 
vero,' than they durst feign of their Heroes ; but he did 
them not in that fabulous manner." And, in his Novum Or- 
ganum, Art. 87, after having mentioned various vain ima- 
ginations, he says, " The truth is, there seems to be the 
same difference in the doctrines of philosophy, between 
these vanities, and the real arts ; as there is between the 
historical narrations of the exploits of Julius Caesar, or 
Alexander the Great, and the achievements of Amadis 
de Gaul, or Arthur o Britain. For those celebrated em- 
perors are found, in fact, to have accomplished greater things, 
than the other shadowy heroes are even feigned to have 
done ; and yet this by such means as are no way fabulous 
or monstrous." 

William Wordsworth, in his preface to the Lyrical 
Ballads, says, " whatever portion of this faculty we may 
suppose even the greatest poet to possess, there cannot be a 
doubt but that the language which it will suggest to him, 



NOTE Y. 



415 



must, in liveliness and truth, fall far short of that which is 
uttered by men in real life, under the actual pressure of 
those passions, certain shadows of which the Poet thus 
produces, or feels to be produced, in himself. 

In a modern novel there is the following passage: — - 
" Were a thousandth part of the livin 6 romances of the 
time, to be gi^en to the world, those inventions which 
have staggered credulity would be pronounced tame 
and insipid, and all would declare what every one can 
vouch from his own experience, that romance is the mere 
common place of life, and like some of the general pheno- 
mena of nature is incredible only to those who do not 
examine into that which forms the very essence of their 
own being." 

Which are the greatest, the pleasures of imagination or of 
reality 1 

In the address to the reader in the Sylva Sylvarum 
Bacon thus concludes : " this work of Natural History is the 
world, as God made it, and not as men have made it, for it 
hath nothing of imagination. 

That there are pleasures of imagination, who can doubt 1 
Who can think, without delight, of the Lady in Comus, or 
of Ariel. 

Where the bee sucks, there suck I, 
In a cowslip's bell I lie. 

So far from doubting the existence of these pleasures, it is 
obvious that they are so intense, as, without the greatest 
caution, to absorb and mislead the mind. 

" Great pleasures," says Philosophy, " are only for ex- 
traordinary occasions." " May I," says the old maxim, 
" be wise enough to write one poem, and wise enough not 
to write more than one." 

I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy — ■ 
The si. epless soul that perished in his pride : 

Of him who walked in glory and in joy, 

Following his plough along the mountain side. 
By our own spirits we are deified : 

W T e poets, in our youth, begin in gladness, 

But thereof comes in the end despondency and madness. 

Wordsworth. 

The question, therefore, is not whether there are plea- 
sures of imagination, or whether these pleasures, when 



416 



NOTE Y. 



properly directed, that is when they are real, are not exqui- 
site, but whether, when excessive or erroneous, they are not 
exceeded by the real delights of the same nature for which 
they are substituted. 

.Are not the delights of true more exquisite than the de- 
lights of false religion, of the Christian than of the Turk? 
Are not the delights of real affection and love more exqui- 
site than ail such delights conceived by imagination ? Take 
any specimen of imaginary love and contrast it with reality. 
Take for instance the milk maid's song from Marlow. 

We will sit upon the rocks, 
And see the shepherds feed our nocks 
By shallow rivers, to whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals. 

And I will make thee beds of roses, 
And twine a thousand fragrant posies : 
A belt of straw and ivy buds, 
With coral clasps and amber studs. 

Contrast this with the description of real affection. 

For five compaigns 

Did my sweet Lucy know 
Each hardship and each toil 

We soldiers undergo. 
Nor ever did she murmur, 

Or at her fate repine, 
She thought not of her sorrow, 

But how to lessen mine : 
In hunger, or hard marching, 

Whate'er the ill might be, 
In her I found a friend, 

Who ne'er deserted me : 
And in my tent when wounded, 

And when 1 sickening lay, 
Oft from my brow, with trembling hand, 

She wiped the damps away. 
And when this heart, my Lucy, 
Shall cease to beat for thee, &c. &c. 

Can this reality be contrasted with the fiction from 
Marlow, without acknowledging the truth of Sir W. Ra- 
leigh's answer. 



NOTE Y. 



417 



Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, 
Thy coral clasps and amber studs, 
All these in me no means can move 
To come to thee and be thy love. 

What should we talk of dainties then, 
Of better meat than's fit for men 1 
These are but vain, that's^only good, 
Which God has blest, and sent for food. 

Again, let any imagination exceed the grief of a family as 
described in the following verse from an old song. 

" His mother from the window look'd, 

With all the longings of a mother — 
His little sister, weeping, walk'd 

The green wood path to meet her brother. 
They sought him east, they sought him west, 

They sought him all the forest thorough ; 
They only saw the cloud of night, 

They only heard the roar of Yarrow !" 

Take again the pleasures of kindness. We all remember 
the account in the beginning of Tom Jones, of Mr. Allwor- 
thy's return from London, when he retired much fatigued to 
his chamber. " Here, having spent some minutes on his 
knees, a custom which he never broke through on any ac- 
count, he was preparing to step into bed, when, upon open- 
ing the clothes, to his great surprise, he beheld an infant, 
wrapt up in some coarse linen, in a sweet and profound 
sleep, between his sheets." The servants were summoned. 
When Mrs. Deborah came into the room, and was ac- 
quainted by her master with the finding the little infant, her 
consternation was rather greater than his had been ; nor 
could she refrain from crying out, with great horror of ac- 
cent as well as Jook, " My good sir ! what's to be done I If 
I might be so bold as to give my advice, I would have it put 
in a basket, and sent out and laid at the churchwarden's 
door. It is a good night, only a little rainy and windy ; 
and, if it was well wrapt up, and put in a warm basket, it is 
two to one but it lives till it is found in the morning." Mr. 
Airworthy had now got one of his fingers into the infant's 

E E 



418 



NOTE Y. 



hand, which by its gentle pressure seeming to implore his 
assistance, out-pleaded the eloquence of Mrs. Deborah. 

Let any imaginary pleasure of kindness be contrasted 
with this ; or if this be supposed imaginary, take the follow- 
ing extract from an account published some years since by 
a person who, at midnight, was intrusted in London with a 
respite for two men, who were to be executed in the coun- 
try, at the distance of sixty miles, the next morning at eight 
o'clock. He says, " the horse-guards' clock struck eleven 
as I entered Whitehall ; before twelve o'clock I, with the 
respite in my pocket, was in a post-chaise on my road ; be- 
tween five and six in the morning, just at the dawn of day, 
I was within fourteen miles of Huntingdon. The sun rose 
in all its splendour ; and it was not, I thought, the last time 
that it would rise upon these poor men." 

Let any Poet describe the joy of this traveller. It is 
the same with every other pleasure which we are formed 
to enjoy. The creations of man are not better than the crea- 
ting of the Almighty. 

Effect of the Progress of Knowledge upon Imagination. 

By the progress of knowledge erroneous notions are 
eradicated. The stream is filtered. The atmosphere is 
purified. Vain fears and vain imaginations are dissipated : 
false notions of pleasure are destroyed, and real delights in- 
creased. 

Effect of the Progress of Knowledge upon Imagination in 
General, 

As the pleasures of imagination are very prevalent, 
and much cultivated during youth, so, if we consider man- 
kind as one great individual, advancing in age perpetually, 
it seems natural to expect, that in the infancy of know- 
ledge, in the early ages of the world, the taste of mankind 
would turn much upon the pleasures of this class. And 
agreeably to this it may be observed, that music, painting, 
and poetry, were much admired in ancient times ; and the 
two last brought to great perfection. Hartly. 

Ignorance and credulity have ever been companions, 
and have misled and enslaved mankind ; philosophy has 
in all ages endeavoured to oppose their progress, and 
to loosen the shackles they had imposed; philosophers 
have on this account been called unbelievers : unbelievers 
of what 1 of the fictions of fancy, of witchcraft, hobgobblins, 



NOTE Y. 



419 



apparitions, vampires, fairies; of the influence of stars 
on human actions, miracles wrought by the bones of 
saints, the flights of ominous birds, the predictions from 
the bowels of dying animals, expounders of dreams, for- 
tune-tellers, conjurors, modern prophets, necromancy, chie- 
romancy, animal magnetism, metallic tractors, with endless 
variety of folly 1 These they have disbelieved and despised, 
but have ever bowed their heads to truth and nature. 

Dakwin's Zoonomia. 
It cannot be concealed, however, that the progress of 
knowledge and refinement has a tendency to circumscribe 
the limits of the imagination, and to clip the wings of 
poetry. The province of the imagination is principally 
visionary, the unknown and undefined : the understanding 
restores things to their natural boundaries, and strips them 
of their fanciful pretensions.^ 

Hazlet. 

Knowledge diminishes the Pains of Imagination. 

See ante 264, and the note. 
See also ante 197, as to Sorrow. 

Knowledge regulates the Pleasures of Imagination. 

-Do not all charms fly 

At the mere touch of cold philosophy 1 
There was an awful rain-bow, once in heaven: 
We know her woof, her texture : she is given 
In the dull catalogue of common things. 
Philosophy will clip an angel's wings, 
Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, 
Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine, 

Unweave a rainbow > 

So says the poet, ought it not to be. — " Does notfollyfly 
at the mere sight of sweet philosophy :" take for instance, the 
very image which the poet has selected. Has the man of 
science less pleasure in contemplating this beauty of nature 
than is enjoyed by ignorance ? 

Akenside, in his poem on the Imagination, says — 

Nor ever yet 

The melting rainbow's vernal-tinctur'd hues 
To me have shone so pleasing, as when first 
The hand of science pointed out the path 
In which the sun-beams gleaming from the west 
Fall on the watery cloud. 



420 



NOTE V. 



So, too, Wordsworth says — 

My heart leaps up when I behold 

A rainbow in the sky : 
So was it when my life began : 

So is it now I am a man ; 
So be it when I shall grow old, &c. 

Of the miseries attendant upon acting on imaginations, as 
if they were realities, life abounds with instances. How truly 
does Sir W. Raleigh say, in answer to the sweet ballad 
"Come live with me and be my love." 

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, 

Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy poesies 

Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, 

In folly ripe, in reason rotten. 

The most common source of misery from this species of 
delusion is in marriage, of which there is an admirable des- 
cription by Dr. Johnson in his Rassalas, the passage begins, 
" What can be expected." In a very interesting novel, en- 
titled Marriage, there is the following dialogue between the 
couple. Douglas saw the storm gathering on the brow of 
his capricious wife, and clasping her in his arms : — u Are 
you indeed so changed, my Julia, that you have forgot the 
time when you used to declare, you would prefer a desert with 
your Henry, to a throne with another?'' 

" No, certainly, not changed: but — I — I did not very 
well know then what a desert was : or at least, 1 had formed 
rather a different idea of it." e< What was your idea of a 
desert?" sa'd her husband, laughing; "do tell me love V* 
''Oh! I had fancied it a beautiful place, full of roses and 
myrtles, and smooth green turf, and murmuring rivulets, and 
though very retired, not absolutely out of the world, where 
one could occasionally see one's friends and give dejeunes 
and fetes champetres." 

Such are the miseries resulting from erroneous noti. s 
respecting love : misery of the same nature, although less in 
degree, attends erroneous notions respecting friendship. 
The advantages of friendship are peace in the affections ; 
counsel in judgment, and assistance in distress ; the heart, 
the hand, the head.* Is it a cause of astonishment that 
disappointments attend most youthful friendships ? 



* See ante 91 and SC. 



NOTE Y. 



421 



Those truths are not confined to our affections but extend 
to every event in life, when we venture to act either by sup- 
posing, non-existencies to be existencies ; or by omitting to 
take into consideration the want of some real cause of com- 
fort. How truly is this described by Cowper in the story of 
the Peasants Nest, in the Task. 

Oft have I wished the peaceful covert mine, 
Here I have said at least I should possess 
The poet's treasure — silence, and indulge 
The dreams of fancy tranquil and secure ; 
Vain thought, the dweller in that still retreat 
Dearly obtains the refuge it affords, 
Tts elevated scite forbids the wretch 
To drink sweet waters of the crystal well, 
He dips his bowl into the weedy ditch 
And heavy laden brings his beverage home ; 
So farewell envy of the peasant's nest. 

Let us think for a moment of the sweet poet, Robert 
Burns, whose life was passed 

" So sweetly in the morning 
Young fancy's rays the hills adorning. 

but when addressing us from his grave in his epitaph, he 
says, 

The poor inhabitant below, 

Was quick to learn and wise to know, 

And keenly felt the friendly glow 

And softer flame : 
But thoughtless follies laid him low 

And stained his name. 
Reader attend, whether thy soul 
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, 
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, 

In low pursuit, 
Know, prudent, cautious, self-controul 

Is wisdom's root, 



422 



NOTE Y. 



Let us, therefore, enjoy the pleasures of imagination, 
but be not unmindful of their limits. Let us not be 

Misled by fancy's meteor ray, 

By passion driv'n ; 
Although the light that leads astray 

Is light from heaven. 



THE END. 



Thomas White, Printer, 
Johnson's Court. 



